To Live Or Die
by Epsilon3
Summary: Giles returns to England. Spike joins him later. Mostly written between S5 & S6. My take on the origins of Vampires and Slayers, and an attempt to explain why the Council seems so cold. Don't like OCs? Run away now! COMPLETE.
1. Albatross.

Disclaimer: 3 original characters are mine. All others are owned by Joss Whedon, damn him.   
Spoiler: One tiny reference to season six "Afterlife".   
Notes: Written in the hiatus between S5 & S6. AU regarding S6. 

****************************************************************************   
  


TO LIVE OR DIE

  
  


Moon is up   
The sun is down   
You can't have it both ways round   
Ooh babe, won't you listen to me   
We are worlds apart, you see   
(Jagger/Richards)   


Chapter One   


Albatross.

  
  
  


Early November. 

When travelling in public transport and sitting in a comfortable chair, it is possible to enter a peculiar state of rest that can never be achieved in a familiar bed. The eyelids become so heavy that the eyes roll up in their sockets when one tries to keep them open. The bones turn to jelly, the ears become acutely sensitive, and the heart leaps and beats hard at the slightest noise. 

High above the Atlantic, Rupert Giles had entered this state some time ago and the voices of the other passengers played havoc with his rest, turning his dreams into a nonsensical, half-aware kaleidoscope that made him shift restlessly. With his head lolling and his legs stretched comfortably before him, he slumbered in first-class and dreamed of cool grass and wine-glasses and sunbathing vampires. 

* 

The pilot's voice jerked him awake and he stretched, peering through the tiny window to see late morning sunlight spearing through clouds onto patchwork land far below. Heathrow was not far away. Feeling tired and a little sad, he sighed and set about tidying himself up. 

* 

They were waiting for him as he came out of passport control and he spotted them immediately...two men and a woman in sharp neat suits: Watchers, patiently awaiting the arrival of their brother. 

As he answered their cliched questions with cliches of his own, Rupert found that he was studying them as if he'd never seen their like before. They were so painfully polite and well-mannered that he felt an urge to express some of the phrases he'd heard countless times in the past few years. He wanted to say 'you bet' instead of 'yes'. He wanted to say 'bite me', but he was too tired to bother. 

Perhaps he was jaded. He had good reason to be. 

With minimum fuss the men took his luggage, and the woman politely indicated with a genteel wave of a manicured hand that they should proceed this way, please. 

When they reached the car, the driver dropped the keys into an oily puddle. "Bugger," he muttered quietly. 

Hearing this small curse, Rupert relaxed a little. Perhaps he should just give everybody a chance. Perhaps living at Council Headquarters for a few weeks wouldn't be so bad after all. Perhaps, he thought, he might even make it through without having to kill anyone. 

The car was a white limousine with dark windows and a bar. Rupert accepted a scotch, and the small talk continued until he fell asleep again. The one-hour journey to Brockworth continued then in silence. 

* 

Rupert's arrival at Headquarters was low-key, to his relief. He stood in the enormous oak-panelled entrance hall and looked around, hoping to feel as if he`d come home. But he felt nothing. He was disappointed. He`d spent a good portion of his life in this building, and had left here nervous and excited...and not a little worried...going off at a time of prophesies to meet with his Slayer at the mouth of hell. Now he felt as if he`d only ever seen this place in a dream. All that driving enthusiasm - had the Hellmouth burnt it all away? He had never before felt so dull. 

At least it wasn`t raining. 

The men took his luggage up to his room and the woman asked him if he needed anything. Irrationally, he was tempted suddenly to to tell her to go to hell and write a report about it. All he wanted was food and time to himself. 

"I`ll just give Michael a quick ring," the woman said, referring to a man Rupert had come to know very well during his years at Headquarters. "He wanted to see you when you arrived." She smiled, seeing the look on his face. "Just a quick hello, nothing deep, then we`ll leave you to it. He`s in his room upstairs, he won`t be long. Come into the lounge and sit. I can make a start hanging up your things if you like?" 

"No. No, that`s all right. I'll do it tomorrow. Thank you." 

"Oh," she turned at the door. "About Michael. Try not to be too surprised when you see him? He's not well." 

Rupert sat down and realised that not one name had been exchanged during the journey from the airport. Feeling numb, he let his head rest against the back of the chair. 

When Michael Greco entered the lounge it took Rupert a moment to recognise him. Michael had appeared fit and well when Rupert had seen him last, yet here was a grey scarecrow with a cane and a careful walk. Michael was sixty-seven and looked ninety. The man seemed full of death. 

Rupert's mouth fell open and the words tumbled out before he could stop them. "Good god, Mike, what's happened to you?" 

Quentin Travers' second in command chuckled ruefully and waved the question away. "That's for later, Rupert, I'll not depress you with my troubles today. I'll just give you the welcome back speech and let you go." He thumped Rupert on the arm and looked into his face with weary eyes. "Can`t let the return of my old friend go unrecognised. How was the flight and all that rubbish?" 

Rupert pulled himself together. "Thank you for first class on the plane. I`ve always known I had a taste for luxury living." 

"Ha! Yes, well. I told Quentin some time ago that he'll have to do a fair bit of grovelling if he wants to keep you. He agreed. By the way, Liz says you're hungry? Shall I kick the cook and make him send you up a tray?" 

"Please." 

Michael smiled at him. "It's good to have you back, Rupert. We've plans for you, you know." 

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that. I wish I could say it's good to be back." 

"Give it time." Michael held out his hand. "I'll let you go now. Visit me when you're settled." 

Rupert shook hands with his old friend and went up to his room. 

* 

He slept deeply and awoke very early the next morning with a foul taste in his mouth and a searing headache. He remembered where he was and groaned, rolling over to switch on the bedside lamp. Last night he`d done nothing more than eat and fall into bed and now he sighed as he looked at his luggage piled neatly by the door. 

Sitting up, he glanced around the unfamiliar room and found himself thinking fondly of the home that was no longer his back in Sunnydale. He was homesick already. 

He found his watch on the floor and counted back from five thirty-seven. They were probably just going to bed. Or more likely, they were still at the Bronze having their last drinks and one more dance. He wondered what had happened on patrol and felt his gut turn over. God, how he wanted to be back there! For a few minutes he sat with his eyes closed, imagining himself getting up and out of there, getting on a plane and just going. Moving into Buffy`s spare bedroom, getting back into the magic shop with Anya. A small smile touched his lips. 

His stomach growled. Shaking himself, he grabbed the telephone and called the kitchen, ordering a huge cooked breakfast to be sent up to him. That was one of the advantages of staying at Council property - eat and drink whenever you choose and no worries about cost because there wasn`t any: the Council of Watchers was so wealthy it was frightening. 

Sitting morosely on the edge of his bed, he thought about his plans to get out and find himself a house as soon as possible. He would start now, right now. Remembering that someone was always available night or day in the office downstairs he dialed there next and asked the clerk to arrange for property details to be sent to him. 

"What _kind_ of property? Um…" God, he couldn't think. All he knew was that the price wouldn't concern him. During his last telephone conversation with Quentin, Rupert had been told not to worry; the house would be his but Council money would buy it. He knew now that he was being sweetened and it amused him. "I want something in a nice village around this area," he said. "Quiet. Detatched. I've no idea what that would cost - " 

"Decent house in a nice village? Then I think we're talking up to half a million," said the night clerk. "Or much more. It depends where and how big." 

"_What_? I don`t want a bloody mansion!" 

"Villages are exclusive. Prices have gone up in the last few years." 

"You`re telling me. Good god. I'll have to clear this with Travers." 

"Mr. Travers has already told us that whatever you want you get, Mr. Giles. We'll take care of it. Was there anything more?" 

_They were lounging on colourful rugs on the lawn in his beautiful garden, laughing and chatting and drinking from crystal glasses that glittered in the warm sunlight. Olivia was smiling. A blackbird flew across to the bronze sundial and settled on the unicorn gnomon. A small breeze made the roses tremble._

"Mr. Giles?" 

_Willow reached across a prone Xander and handed Buffy a plate holding a thick slice of cake. Spike leaned back on his elbows and raised his face to the sun, jigging one bare foot to a beat only he could hear and talking lazily with Tara and Dawn._

"Mr. Giles, sir?" 

_Anya poured cream over glistening strawberries_ - Rupert blinked. "I need at least, ah, five double bedrooms and a good-sized garden." 

"Certainly." 

"That's all, I think." 

"Very good. Good bye, sir." 

Oh god, it was all so _mundane_. Rupert looked again at his luggage and felt his headache return. Quentin would be arriving this afternoon and would need to talk but for now Rupert didn`t want to think of anything except aspirin. He upturned his hold-all and emptied it onto the floor, searching for pills and toothbrush. 

Suddenly he stopped and addressed the carpet. "Spike? What the bloody hell was _he_ doing in my fantasy?" 

* 

After breakfast Rupert took advantage of the clear weather and re-acquainted himself with the enormous old building and its grounds. Armed with a couple of apples he made a slow circuit of the exterior, looking at the architecture and remembering this oddly unsettling stained-glass window or that particular flight of slippery stone steps leading down to a mouldy door that was always locked. 

It had rained during the night and the grass was wet. He wandered out onto the close-cut lawn and watched the toes of his shoes darken. When he looked back at the house he realised with surprise that he had forgotten all about the gargoyles. They were placed at regular intervals around the edge of the roof and scattered randomly between the chimneys and he knew why they were there: their reputation for scaring away evil spirits wasn't simply a myth. His old favourite lived on this side, an ugly little monstrosity of a thing that clung upside-down to the wall like a vile lizard, leering out at the distant hills. He spotted it and gave it a friendly nod. 

The lawn ran down a gentle slope to thick woods. There the land fell away into a narrow tree-covered valley and Rupert knew that deep down in those woods, where it was always gloomy and damp moss grew everywhere, there was a stone circle beside a stream. There was an ancient pathway, used so often in the unknown past that it was now a permanent depression in the ground. Leading from the stone circle, this path wound through the trees along the valley floor, vanishing in places until it reached a slippery rocky area where stood the most unpleasantly curious statue Rupert had ever seen. No-one knew what it depicted; time had reduced it to a puzzle. It had been enormous once and had stood there for a very long time. Rupert couldn't explain why but he had always been convinced that it was a statue of a demon. 

He left the lawn and settled himself on a stone bench. Eating his second apple, he looked over the trees to the hills beyond and let himself drift into the past. 

He didn't have many pleasant memories of the time he'd spent with the Council before leaving for California to meet Buffy. He realised that the best years of his life had happened in Sunnydale and when he considered what those times had been like he knew he was overdue a good life. 

Shaking himself, he looked down at the apple cores in his hand and decided to visit the horses. 

* 

After lunch Rupert telephoned Olivia. He'd told her a few weeks ago that he was returning and now he was looking forward to seeing her. Their conversation was short but warm and he asked about visiting her soon. Strangely, she was anxious to visit him instead. 

"I'd really like to come to you actually, Rupert." 

"Would you? Oh, well, I-I don't know when I'll have a roof for you to sleep under. I haven't seen any house details yet." 

"If you haven't found a place by the time I come down couldn't I stay at Headquarters? Would they mind?" 

"Well, you know all about the Council, so it'll hardly compromise their security - and I have an enormous bed. Yes, all right. When?" 

"The next few weeks are sewn up. How does Christmas and New Year sound? Around the twenty-first of December?" 

"It's later than I was hoping for but yes, that would be nice." 

"I'll be there on the twenty-first, then." 

Rupert gave her directions and they said their goodbyes. Almost immediately the phone rang. Quentin had arrived. 

* 

"Before you get to anything _you_ want to say, Quentin," said Rupert pointedly. "You`re going to tell me one thing." 

They were in Quentin`s office, a pleasantly old-fashioned cosy affair with deep leather armchairs and book-filled mahogany shelves around the walls. 

"Why did you give us all that nonsense when you _knew_ we were up against a Hell-God? That group you had with you were so far up themselves they were practically doing backbends." 

Quentin sighed. "Because we thought we couldn`t help you with her. We know now that we could have done quite a lot to help keep the Key safe but we didn't know of her existence at the time, did we Rupert?" 

Rupert frowned and opened his mouth but Quentin held up a hand. "Hear me out. I understand why you didn't mention her. I simply want you to know the shape of our thinking at the time. As far as we knew we couldn`t help. There was no research we could do, no spells we could give and you already had some talented friends to help you. The two witches alone were worth any twenty people we could have given you. Of course, you could have lost the battle anyway, but that's beside the point. What mattered was that everyone needed to be doing their utmost. We knew _you'd_ do whatever you could, whatever was necessary, but Buffy -" 

"Oh my god," Rupert let his head fall against the back of the chair. "Oh my god. It was a test, wasn't it - but not the one we thought it was. You were pushing to see how she`d take control. _If_ she`d take control." 

Quentin nodded. "When we arrived she wasn't in control. When we left she was, and looking stronger for it. She did it quite beautifully, too. I was impressed. Our work was done." He chuckled. "I'd told the others to be as pushy as they could. Nigel didn`t have to try very hard. A very supercilious man, that one, needs taking down a peg or two. 

"We had to push her, Rupert. We were very nervous. We weren't sure what Glory's intentions were but we felt - our psychics somehow knew - that if Buffy didn't step up and fully utilise her power we'd all be lost without a whimper. All of us. Everything. When we discovered what you were up against we were shocked but we knew that of all the people it could have happened to, you and Buffy stood the best chance of winning." He took a sip of his wine and glanced at Rupert. "And her friends, of course." 

Rupert looked away into the past and winced as he recalled how that adventure had ended. He sighed. "Yes, you tested them too, didn't you? They were a great help. Friends fit for a Slayer. They`ve paid a lot for that friendship." 

Quentin pursed his lips. "And Spike?" 

Rupert hesitated, remembered Dawn shouting, forcing a devastated vampire to eat. "He paid too." 

"I'm going to need more on that one, Rupert. The call you made here after Buffy died was garbled enough and I know you were distraught at the time - but it gave me the willies, I can tell you." 

"You`ll get more, don`t worry. He`s still a puzzle to me. I - I`m still trying to work it out." Rupert shook his head. "Don`t know if I ever will." 

Quentin drained his glass."He`s a puzzle to all of us. You won`t believe the ripples this is causing. There are some who are all for simply going over there and killing him, chip or not. They seem highly offended by the thought of an unsouled vampire in love with the Slayer and I`ve had a bit of trouble holding them back." 

Rupert looked puzzled. "What do you mean you had trouble holding them - you don't want them to kill a - " 

"You and your Slayer have taught me caution, Rupert." Quentin frowned. "Plus, I have had a recent wake-up call. Nothing is black and white anymore. But until I know what`s what concerning him I really have nothing concrete to say to the lynch-mob. They are very passionate about this." 

Suddenly furious, Rupert spoke through thin lips. "Tell them this, then. For the sake of the Slayer's family Spike withstood a torture session that would have had any one of those bastards singing like birds." 

Quentin's eyebrows shot up. "I will," he said, surprised at Rupert's venom. He looked at him for a moment, then slapped his knees and stood up. "Well, this is really just a courtesy call. Check your ears, look at your teeth, tell you what we need. I needn't say I want a report from you? Well, I need Spike`s story yesterday. As for the rest of it, there's no particular rush. I`m sure overall it will be a large report?" 

Rupert laughed grimly. "Think Encyclopaedia Britannica." 

"Well, take your time. I have to shoot back to London but I`ll be popping in often. Give me a call when you have some of it written up." 

Rupert stood up and they shook hands. "Goodbye, Quentin." 

At the door Quentin hesitated. "Buffy - " 

Rupert looked at him sharply. 

"How is she?" asked Quentin. 

It was a loaded question and Rupert thought carefully. "She`s - still Buffy. She`s sad to be back when she`d thought it was all over but she`s also glad because she has Dawn and the rest of them again. She's still the Slayer. She`s Buffy. That`s all I need to know." 

Quentin nodded. "Strange business. And you, Rupert. Why have you come back? You told me you were coming but you never explained why." 

That one was sadly easy. "She doesn`t need me any more." 

* 

Willow: "I miss Giles." 

Buffy: "Yeah. It`s like my father's gone away all over again. Not need him? How can I _not_ need him? I don't get it. It`s hard." 

Willow: "Poor Buffy. He said he`ll visit us, though. That`s good, isn`t it? That`s a happy thing?" 

Buffy: "Yeah. Then when he goes back I'll miss him all over again." 

Willow: "It`ll get better. It has to. Do you think he`s happy?" 

Buffy: " I don`t know." Pause. "You know, looking back, it`s like he never really found his - found himself. Found the thing that he was." 

Willow: "What do you mean?" 

Buffy: "It was never…I mean, he could be so much more than a Watcher. It`s obvious now. Watching never really fitted him. Or, it fitted him at first but after a while it didn't. He was damned good, I`ll grant that. I`d have been dead a lot sooner if he wasn`t. He`s just….I dunno. I don't know what he's gonna be. He`s more than a Watcher." 

Willow: "The way you`re more than a Slayer now? Slayer plus?" 

Buffy: "I think we`ve both outgrown our original roles. Watchers always seem to be on the outside, you know? They're not - they're not part of the magic. I mean, it _is_ magic isn't it, this thing I am? It's sure as shit not natural. But Watchers seem to be just regular people who get, ah, recruited. Or they follow mum and dad's footsteps. I think Giles is going to end up on the inside, somehow. He's gonna be somewhere in the middle of it all, connected. Maybe in charge in some way." 

Willow: "In charge? He was in charge in the Magic Box but that's not what you mean, is it?" 

Buffy: "Yeah, the shop. _His_ training-room. No, he needs a bigger one now." 

Willow: "The Council?" 

Pause. 

Buffy: "That would be funny."   
  
  



	2. Anchorage.

Chapter Two

  


Anchorage

"What? Oh, it's cancer." 

Michael Greco spoke casually. A week had passed since Rupert's arrival and November was blowing and raining in the gardens. Michael was in Rupert's room, enjoying the large fire burning in the hearth. He picked up the poker and turned over a log. Rupert was pacing, not sure how to cope with the calm words he'd just heard. 

"Oh, bloody hell, Mike." 

"Now, don't be like that. Something like this gets most of us in the end, unless we go down suddenly in the street. Now, _that's_ unlucky." 

"Unlucky?" Rupert felt off-balance. 

"You don't get the chance to plan." 

"Bugger that. Let me go in my sleep." 

"It's not so bad, you know. The drugs are really nice and you should take a peek at my nurse. You'll go blind." 

Rupert gaped at him. "You can't be trying to tell me It's Okay Really?" 

"No, of course not. But it's not as bad as I thought it would be." Michael shrugged. "Of course, the next few months will be worse, and I may change my mind." He looked at Rupert's face and laughed. "But at the moment I'm all right. Truly. Sit down, man. Drink your tea." 

"How long do you have?" 

"Year. Or less." 

Rupert dropped into a chair and picked up his cup. "Well, I'd be in a rage." 

"Against the dying of the light? God, what's the point? Might as well rage against the sun rising. Give in. Go gentle. Spend your energies on something else." 

"Honestly Mike, I don't know whether to give you sympathy or jokes." 

"Do neither and just accept it. It's quite simple. Right now is when we live and right now is when we die and when you get to the end it doesn't matter a damn how many years have passed. Everything happens in the Now." 

"Yes, I realised that years ago. It was an unpleasant thought then and it still is. I know it's true, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. It makes it all seem so pointless." 

Michael nodded. "I happen to like the inevitability of it all. It means I can just go limp and let happen anything that wants to happen. I'm tired of fighting, done it my whole life. I'm glad to just relax and let it go." 

"Well." Rupert felt a dull sadness settle down deep inside him. "I'm going to miss you, you old sod." 

"Positively splendid of you to say so, old boy. Now tell me, have you written anything about the famous Spike that I can take an early peek at? When Quentin gets his hot, sweaty hands on anything it's weeks before I get a look in." 

Relieved at the subject change, Rupert turned to the papers on his desk but was interrupted by the telephone ringing. Suddenly irritated, he snatched up the receiver. "Giles," he said curtly, and proceeded to listen in wonder to the plummiest voice he had ever heard: 

"Mr. Giles, sir. Clerk's office calling. Good day. You will be pleased to know that I have received several replies to your enquiries and I have discarded those that are obviously not to your specifications." 

Rupert had no idea what the man was talking about. 

The clerk sighed dramatically. "Really, one takes the time to tell these fellows what one requires, and what do they do? They ignore one and send everything. Most vexing. Happily, however, I am left with the details of eight pleasing properties here on my desk that I believe you may find satisfactory. Do you wish me to dispatch them to your room? The porter fellow is available." 

Unable to believe the pomposity he was hearing, Rupert's mouth hung open. Then the devil took him and he channelled Ripper. "Shit, yeah. Send those bastards up." In the corner of his eye he saw Michael's shoulders begin to shake. 

Down in the office, the clerk didn't bat an eyelid. "At once, sir." 

"What's your name?" 

"Crispin Farnsworthy, sir." 

Rupert swallowed a laugh. "Well, thanks." 

"Good day to you, sir." 

Rupert held the receiver up and stared at it. 

"Going by what you said," said Michael, still chuckling, "I imagine that was Crispy." 

Rupert laughed and mimicked, "Ay hev received replays to your h'enquairies," He laughed again, feeling grateful to Crispy for the light relief, feeling his day brighten up. "Wh'one takes the tayme...good god, I thought they'd all gone the way of the Dodo. I've never heard so many dropped h'aiches." 

Michael laughed. "Yes. We do seem to attract some h'insufferable snobs. Crispin, h'unfortunately, is one of the worst we've ever known, h'and that's saying something." 

They were still laughing when Rupert's package arrived. 

* 

Two weeks later Rupert knew he had found his house. 

The day was cold, bright and clear; the type of weather that usually lifted Rupert's spirits, but today he could hardly be bothered. Having seen six previous properties he was fed up with the whole business and more than a little depressed. 

He'd spoken to Buffy the previous evening and had listened with a heavy heart to her brief account of the doings of the Scooby Gang. Nothing much had happened: vampires dusted, a couple of rampaging demons taken down, the usual. Dawn was doing okay and had a boyfriend who was being terrorised by an certain overly protective vampire: Spike was still basically Spike, except - 

"He's got this whole territorial thing going on around Dawn. Any day now he's gonna start leaving his spoor in the garden." 

Willow and Tara were fine. Xander and Anya were fine. The Hellmouth was quiet. Boresville, and how was his house-hunting going? 

Oh, how Rupert wanted to be back in Boresville. He'd gone to bed in a foul temper and lain awake until well past three a.m. 

His head felt fuzzy and his eyes were hot and gritty as he drove up the drive leading to Little Eden; highly sought after des.res., rare opportunity; six dbl beds; blah, blah; one acre; blahdyblah. He scoffed at the pleasant garden areas on either side of the drive. He twisted his mouth contemptuously at the black-beamed old house with gabled windows and large oak front door. 

The agent came out to meet him and he forced a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Her heels echoing, she led him through the empty house and pointed out the splendid original features, but he followed her like a zombie, aggressively disinterested in everything. 

She brought to his attention the lovely view, and for the sake of looking as though he cared, he glanced through an upstairs window as he walked past. Yes, there was indeed a view from up here. Yes, the rear garden was nice and big, just like the other six he'd seen. Pah. Suddenly he stopped and looked down into the garden again. 

After a minute the agent touched his arm, making him jump. Having shown him the house, she told him she'd wait outside if he wanted to walk around again on his own, and Rupert found he was suddenly interested and did indeed want another look. He wandered slowly around, feeling a strong sense of deja vous. 

When he entered the living room he went to the french windows that opened onto the rear garden and stood there for some time looking out at a sundial set on a pedestal in the middle of the lawn. It seemed to have a horse-shaped gnomon. 

Ten minutes later Rupert shook hands with the agent, telling her he'd think about it. He walked to his car, a little frown creasing his forehead. Slowly, he took out his keys and unlocked the driver's door, then his eyes widened and he straightened up, his mouth hanging open. _Olivia was smiling. A blackbird settled on the long horn of the unicorn gnomon on the sundial._ After a moment of complete stillness, he said: "Good lord." 

* 

"Clerk's office. Crispin speaking." 

"This is Giles - what? Oh - yes, hello. I'm calling to let you know I've chosen a house. Pardon? Well, as I was about to say - it's the one in Mitching called Little Eden. You will? Thank you." 

* 

"Mr. Giles? I need your signature for the deeds to Little Eden. Could you visit the office sometime today?" 

"What? It's only been four days!" 

"Well, it _was_ an executor's sale, no chain involved. We just threw money at them. Plus, our solicitors are evil." 

"Yes, they must be. Well, wonderful it's all gone through. Where's day clerk Crispy?" 

"He's on holiday. I'm covering for him." 

"Oh. I'll miss him." 

"Won't we all." 

"I'll be down in a minute." 

* 

Dear Willow. 

Hello! Giles here. Yes, I now have a computer. Yes, I know how to use it although it is a machine forged in the fires of hell. It's a Good Thing you gave me your e-mail address before I left, wasn't it? 

How are you all? Everything still quiet? Everyone all right? Write back and let me know. This e-mail thing is quite exciting. 

I now have a house. It's very nice and has a lovely garden - or it will be lovely come summer. I'm buying furniture when I'm not writing that bloody report. Tell Buffy that to write about her needs a lot of words. Thank god I kept regular diaries. Everyone is fascinated with it, you're all stars you know. 

Olivia will be coming to spend Christmas and new year with me, which will be nice. Hopefully I'll have most of the house ready when she gets here - when you employ the Watcher's Council to arrange things for you it all gets done *very quickly*. There are three carpenters and five decorators over there beavering away as I type. I think they're scared. It will all look very nice when it's finished. I plan to have a gargoyle on the roof. 

You'll be pleased to know they're still bribing me. I'm on quite a collossal salary and all I'm doing is writing a report and spending their money. Quentin seems quite anxious to keep me happy, don't really know why. However, make the most of it, next on the list is a new car. LOL. 

Anyway, love to everyone. Reply soon! Miss you all very, very much. 

Giles. 

* 

"LOL!" shouted Buffy. "He wrote LOL!" 

"Next he'll be giving us OMG and IMO," said Willow. 

Buffy looked scared. "God, I hope not. I couldn't stand it. He sounds like chirpy Giles, doesn't he?" She handed the e-mail to Xander. 

"I can't believe he has a computer," said Anya. "Voluntarily, I mean." 

"And he lets it come indoors too," Buffy shook her head. "Scary." 

"He sounds very busy. He must be loving it." Willow turned to her computer. "We have to write back. Now. He wants to know everything." 

"_What_ everything?" said Spike, reading the message over Xander's shoulder. "There's been bugger all happening around here since he left." 

"I killed those vampires tonight," said Buffy, and then she sighed. "Right. Nothing happening." 

"Well, you might get lucky on patrol tomorrow," said Xander. "And who let the corpse in?" He shrugged a shoulder irritably. "Stop breathing down my neck." 

"I came with Dawn. And I don't breath, friend. It's great. You should try it." 

"Go away." 

"I don't think so." 

"We could tell him what we did today," said Tara, heading off another argument. 

They thought about that. 

"I gave myself a facial," said Anya brightly. "Oh, then I did a stock check - he'll want to know that." 

"I killed the evil laundry," said Buffy. "I used creepy water and a cursed machine" 

Spike shrugged. "I slept." 

"Like he wants to know about you," said Xander. "I bought some new tools." 

"Yeah. Great. Tell him that. He'll get all excited." 

"Will you two shut up a moment?" said Willow. "I'll just start typing and see what happens." She poised her fingers over the keyboard. "Um..." 

Buffy nudged her. "Putting "Hello Giles" right at the top might be a good idea." 

"Oh! Right. Okay, what else?" 

"Tell him we miss him," said Dawn. 

"Okay. 'Cos we do." Willow typed a few lines. "Come on, people. I need more. Think." 

"Put..." Spike paused and ticked off on his fingers. "Put ROTFLMFAO and wait for him to ask what it means." 

"You're evil, Spike," said Willow, her fingers tapping on the keys. 

"Well, yeah." 

* 

Dear Willow. 

Just a quick note to say - 

Don't think I don't know what it means. 

Lots of love, 

Giles.   
  
  
  



	3. Olivia.

Chapter Three

  


Olivia

21 December. 

Rupert sat in his car outside Mitching's tiny station and listened to the rain drumming on on the roof. Typically dreadful December weather. He watched the water run down the windscreen as he waited for Olivia's train to arrive. 

The last time he had seen her she'd been saying goodbye and hurrying for the cab, eager to get away from Sunnydale and it's frightful habits. He'd entertained such high hopes for a happy few days with her, and The Gentlemen had ruined it all with their thievery. They'd stolen her voice and her peace; taken away her comfortable belief in the natural order of how things must be and left her spinning helplessly in the uncaring light of how things really are. 

Although Rupert had talked to her in the past about the supernatural and the paranormal, she'd not believed him. Sunnydale had given her an uncomfortable awakening. She'd not been prepared for his peculiar lifestyle; for the _things_ that he, by default, spent his time fighting. They'd talked about it later, and he had told her everything: Buffy, the Watcher's Council, himself; he'd held nothing back. This time, of course, Olivia had believed him; after the things she had seen she would have been a fool not to. Then she'd kissed him and told him she loved him...and promised never to come to Sunnydale again. 

Rupert was determined that this time she would not be upset or dismayed in any way. She would not even feel a draught. His house was ready, in truly record time, and he'd spent the last two days putting barrier spells around it. The gargoyle by the chimney had a wide mouth so stuffed with protective charms that he'd had to cement them in place to prevent them falling out. Nothing. Was going. To go wrong. This time. 

Taking him by surprise, Olivia appeared at the top of the station steps struggling with a large suitcase. Hunched against the rain with a broken umbrella flapping uselessly from her hand, she stopped and looked around for his car. 

Rupert swore. He hadn't even noticed the train pulling in and he'd wanted to meet her on the platform. Hurriedly, he got out of the car and met her at the bottom of the steps. The rain pelted them as he pulled her into a hug, and she laughed. "You'll get soaked!" 

"Never mind!" He kissed her hard. "God, it's good to see you!" 

They ran for the car. 

* 

Rupert woke early and saw rain hitting the leaded glass of his bedroom window. He turned over carefully and watched Olivia sleeping. Her hair was spread on the pillow and he saw how it shone even in the dull light of the cloudy morning. She seemed smaller, somehow. She'd lost weight since he'd seen her last, he could see it in her face. 

He lay propped up on one elbow, remembering the previous evening with a smile. He'd shown her around his lovely house and she had adored it, laughing loudly when he told her how the Council had paid for everything. She'd gaped at his over-the-top Christmas decorations and the enormous tree ablaze with lights in the lounge. They'd talked for a long time after dinner and eventually he'd lead her upstairs to make love in his enormous bed. Afterwards, she'd held onto him tightly and he'd fallen into the best sleep he'd had in a long time. 

A sudden darkening of the room made him look at the window again. Blacker clouds had come up and he heard a rumble of thunder. Olivia stirred and opened her eyes. 

"Breakfast," Rupert stated. 

Olivia stretched. "Make it a big one and I might decide to stay." 

"Eggs, tomatos, sausage - " 

"Stop. Go now. Feed your guest." 

Rupert grinned and left the bed. "I have to buy some things from town sometime today, if this bloody rain lets up." He headed for the en-suite bathroom. 

"Rupert Giles, afraid of rain?" 

"Well, I thought we could have lunch. There's a nice little restaurant I've found." 

"Okay. As long as we don't have to walk far - I'm not as fit as I used to be." Olivia joined him in the bathroom. 

"You seemed fit enough last night." 

"I was lying down and you did most of the work." 

Rupert grinned. "It's just to the supermarket. You know, last minute bits. And I want to get something for you." Olivia cocked an eyebrow at him and he added defensively: "I have a present for you already. I just want to get something additional. Anything you want?" 

"I'll have to think." 

"How about perfume? Do you still wear your old favourite?" 

"Yes, I've run out. Good idea - I'll wear it Christmas night, remind you of all the times we've been together." 

"Right then. A large bottle of, um, Chanel - " 

"No." 

"Yves St. - " 

"If you think I'm going to make this easy for you, think again." 

* 

On the twenty-third a large crate with USA markings arrived at Rupert's door. Written in thick black letters on all four sides: GILES! DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 25th!! 

"Must be from Buffy," said Rupert delightedly as he signed for it. 

With some effort, the delivery man deposited it in the hallway. Rupert bent to lift it and staggered, surprised at the weight. He wrestled it into his lounge and stood back, staring at it. "Good grief. What on earth's in there?" 

Olivia looked it over. "They wouldn't send you a demon, would they?" 

"Well, Spike might." Uncertain now, Rupert walked around the crate and frowned. "Perhaps I should put a caging spell - " 

"Rupert," Olivia said firmly. "It's a Christmas crate from your friends in America. Put it under the tree and leave it alone." 

"It won't fit under the tree." 

"Open it now, then." 

"No. Willow's probably put a spell on it. Give me blisters or something." 

"Then do nothing and come over here. I need a cuddle." 

* 

The local pub was a splash of light on a dark tree-lined road off Mitching's main street. Olivia and Rupert arrived there early on Christmas Eve and found the quaint old place quite quiet. The landlord's two siamese cats sat regally beside the pumps on the bar and gave Rupert and Olivia a blue-eyed stare as they came in. 

While Rupert ordered their drinks at the bar, Olivia sat at a table beside the huge sweet-smelling log fire and gave the pub dog a pat as it wandered past on it's continuous quest for snacks. She looked around. 

A woman sat down at a table on the other side of the fire and smiled at her, wishing her a happy Christmas. Olivia replied in kind and noticed that the woman had placed what looked to be a very old book on her table. The gold lettering on the dark spine was easy to read: "The Vampyre: to bind and control a natural creature." 

When Rupert arrived with their drinks Olivia pointed at the book and smiled at him. "Just can't get away from them, can you?" 

Rupert looked at the book and his mouth fell open. "Good lord! No, it can't be. It must be a fake." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, good heavens, that book is believed to be a myth. No-one's ever seen it - no-one in the Council, at least. It's supposed to be a translation of a much older book, reputedly containing a whole series of spells for the containment and control of vampires, but god - " he shook his head. "If it's original it's over four hundred years old and virtually one of a kind. No-one really believes it exists." 

"Oh, it exists," said the woman with a smile. "I'm sorry, but it's quiet in here - I didn't mean to eavesdrop." 

"No," said Rupert. "That's all right. Would you mind if - could I take a look at that book?" 

The woman obligingly brought the book to their table and Rupert carefully leafed through the pages. 

"It _looks_ genuine," said Olivia. 

"Yes. It's hard to fake old books convincingly." Rupert frowned as he looked closely at the red and black lettering. "It has been done though, in the past." 

"Oh yes," said the woman. "But this one happens to be real." She looked at Rupert. "You're interested in old books? Or just the supernatural?" 

"Well, both really." Rupert reluctantly handed the book back to her. "That's fascinating - so many spells. How did you come by it? That's a book worth studying." 

"Oh, they don't work, you know." 

"The spells?" Rupert looked closely at her. 

"Yes. The writer was assuming the vampire is natural, connected to the world. That's a load of rubbish to base anything on, don't you think?" The woman held out her hand. "Mera." 

"Rupert. This is Olivia," Rupert frowned slightly. "I've seen you before, I think" 

"Perhaps. I've just moved here." 

"Oh, so have I." Rupert nodded at the book. "Assuming spells really work, how do you know that those don't?" 

Mera laughed. "I've tried them. Ages ago. I'm only reading it now for a laugh, the naivety is amusing. A lot of hogwash. I wasted a lot of time trying to get those spells to work." 

"Well, you'd need to get hold of a vampire first," said Rupert with a laugh, making it sound as if the idea was ridiculous. 

Mera waved a hand. "Oh, that's no problem - we're virtually falling over the little buggers in the street." 

Rupert blinked. 

"No, it's the spells," she continued. "The idiot writer didn't know what he was talking about. You can borrow it if you like." 

"What?" Rupert was suprised by the sudden offer. "I mean - you'd trust this book to a complete stranger?" 

"If you live in this village you won't be a stranger for long. Anyway, I'm a good judge of character. Where's your house?" 

"Right up at the north end where the road turns into the track that runs up to the hills. Little Eden." 

"Little Eden! Oh, that's a beautiful place. I'm down the other end - the miniscule thatched hiccup between the church and the farm." She laughed. "Corpses on one side, pig-swill on the other. If it'll make you feel better, I could bring it round tomorr - no, that's Christmas. Boxing Day, how about that? If you're not busy, that is. That way you'll know that _I'll_ know you're genuine." 

"Well, thank you very much," Rupert smiled at her. "Even if it is rubbish, as you say, I'd still like a close look at it." 

"Boxing day, then." Mera smiled at them. "Well, I've intruded long enough, and I have to go anyway. Nice to meet you both." 

They watched her leave the pub. Olivia turned to Rupert. "Middle-aged Wicca wannabe looney?" 

"Well, if I was him," Rupert indicated a man at the bar, "I'd be inclined to say yes. But I'm not him, so I'm going to say - who knows?" 

"She was quite matter-of-fact about vampires." 

"Yes." Rupert sipped his drink thoughtfully. "I wonder where she got that book from?" 

* 

Christmas Day. 

"Oh, Rupert! Perfume! And my old favourite, too. How _sweet_ of you!" 

"Thank god. You put me through hell over that, you know." 

"That was the plan. When are you going to open that crate?" 

"Right now." 

Among the bottles of whiskey - hidden by Willow from prying officials - magical paraphernalia, framed photographs, jumpers and, to his suprise, a small glass box of Sunnydale earth, Rupert found something that made his heart ache. 

"Hi Giles!" Smiling broadly, Buffy waved at him from the television screen. "Happy Christmas!" She rolled her eyes. "Oh god, I had a whole speech planned and now it's gone totally out of my head. I'm just having a hard time looking at a little piece of black plastic with a lens and pretending it's you." She looked down at the top she was wearing. "Thank you _so_ much for the top. It's beautiful - I love real lace. But you already know that, because you bought it for me, so - oh god, I'm rambling." She straightened up. "We all really miss you, you know. I still can't believe you're not here. Sunnydale's really quiet at the moment. Nothing much has happened since you left, a little slayage here and there, no big." She smiled. "Anyway, hope you're okay - and happy. I want my Watcher to be happy, you hear? I'll see you. I mean it." She blew a kiss at the camera. "Bye." The screen faded on her smile. 

Willow and Tara were next. Watching Tara's shy smile and Willow's bright face and typically enthusiastic wave, Rupert felt his eyes prickling and wondered if he was going to make it to the end of the video without having to leave the room. Anya gave him a lengthy description of life in the Magic Box and Xander made a point of calling him 'G-Man' many times, giving Rupert a broad 'what are you gonna do?' smile. Rupert laughed. When Dawn came on he sat forward, unable to believe how much older she looked. She was wearing makeup and even sounded older as she told him about the small events in her life. The film ended on a still of them all sitting together. Several humorous and downright vulgar credits rolled up the screen. 

"That was really nice," said Olivia. "You miss them, don't you?" 

"Oh god," Rupert closed his eyes. "You have no idea. We went through so much together." He winced as if someone had nudged him in the stomach. 

Olivia squeezed his hand. "Then you'd better not watch that again for a while." 

He sighed and looked at the bottles of clandestine scotch that had come out of the crate. "Willow could make a fortune as a smuggler. Do you think they think I'm an alcoholic?" 

Olivia laughed. "Looks like it. The clothes are nice, though. And this magical stuff is fascinating." She held up a dubious-looking statuette. "What's this?" 

"It's from Anya. I-I think you need to be drunk before I tell you what it's for. That woman has a mind like a - well, let's just say Xander must be very happy." 

"Are you feeling easier about being back here?" Olivia asked suddenly. "More than you were when you first arrived?" 

He thought about that. "I haven't been here long enough to feel as though I belong." He looked at her. "It's easier with you here. You're the link that joins it all." 

Olivia gave him a little smile. "There's a card you haven't opened." She pointed to the pile of wrapping debris from the crate. 

Rupert opened it. "Good lord. It's from Spike." 

"Spike? What's he doing sending Christmas cards?" 

"It's a New Year card - god forbid he has anything to do with religion." Rupert picked up a piece of paper that had fallen out. "Rupes," he read aloud. "Just to let you know that Buffy and Dawn are okay. They have their ups and downs but get through them. Nothing lasting. That's all. Spike." He raised his eyebrows. "First time I've received mail from a vampire. What an elegant hand." 

"He wasn't in the video." 

"Probably thinks it's too, er, 'un-cool'." Rupert read the letter again. "Hm. He's letting me know he'll tell me if anything bad happens. He knows Buffy won't want to worry me." He looked at the back of the envelope. "SWAKITM. Cheeky bugger." 

"What's that?" 

"Sealed With A Kick In The Mouth." Despite himself, Rupert laughed. 

Olivia smiled. "It's strange he's so protective." 

"He takes his promise to Buffy very seriously." 

"A vampire." She shook her head. "It's just weird." 

"I thought about it a lot while I was writing that report on him for Quentin and I'm beginning to think it's not so strange after all." Rupert hung Spike's card with the others over the fireplace and turned back to Olivia. "You're looking tired this morning, are you feeling all right?" 

"No. Yes - I mean, I'm just sleepy. I might have a quick nap." 

"You do that." Rupert looked at his watch. "I have to throw the bird in the oven now. I'll wake you in time for lunch, all right?" 

Olivia kissed him and went upstairs. 

* 

On the morning of the ninth of January, the day before Olivia was due to go home, Rupert broached the subject that had been on his mind ever since he had arrived back in England. They were in his kitchen and winter sunlight shone through the window, falling on Olivia and highlighting the planes of her face. 

"Well, what do you think?" he asked. "It's something I - I've been thinking about a lot since I got here. We've so much history - " 

He watched in confusion as her face fell. She seemed horrified at his suggestion. Feeling a stab of deep pain, he watched her rise abruptly from the table and move to the window. 

She took a deep breath. "Rupert - " 

"There's someone else isn't there?" His voice was dull with disappointment. 

Olivia turned quickly and stared at him with wide eyes. "Oh god, no. No, Rupert, honestly - there's nothing I'd like better than to live with you." 

Now he was confused. "Then why so horrified, Olivia?" he asked quietly. "What's so bad? What's wrong?" 

Olivia rubbed her hands over her face. "Oh god. Rupert, I'm so sorry. So sorry." She felt something tighten up inside her. 

Alarmed, Rupert moved quickly to her side. "Tell me." He placed his hands on her shoulders and she looked at him, her face dull now. 

"I wanted to tell you - I wanted to tell you here, not at my house. The first night here was so nice, I put it off for a day. Then another day. By the time Christmas came it was too late to say anything, you were so relaxed, I just couldn't tell you." Her voice was shaking now. "And now you're looking at the future, and - and there isn't any. Not with me." The tightness inside her was so strong now that she could hardly draw breath. "I'm dying," she forced out. "It's cancer. In my blood. All over me. It's untreatable." 

Then the dam burst. 

* 

Rupert stood with Olivia on the platform at Mitching station and knew that he had to at least try to get her to stay. 

"Stay another day. One more day." 

"I want to, but I can't. I have to be at the hospital tomorrow." 

"I'll come to you, then." Rupert was determined not to be separated from her for long. "As soon as I can get a week away from Quentin." 

Olivia nodded. She felt light now that he knew. "I've had time to get used to it. You haven't." She laughed harshly. "Oh, yes. Used to it. Ha. I really wish I'd told you when you first phoned." "Don't worry about it. I know - I mean I understand how hard it can be to tell someone about this, harder than it is for the person hearing it." Olivia kissed him. "I'd live with you. If it wasn't for this, I would. No hesitation." She looked around."Here's the train."   
  
  
  


* 

Giles!! 

Just a quick word to let you know we're all still alive. 

Have you used Anya's statue on Olivia yet??!!!!! Haha!! Sorry. Bad me. Haha! 

Well, HAVE you??? 

The only thing that's happened around here, apart from a group of demons, is Dawn had a blazing row with Spike the other night over her staying out late. Later than seven o'clock, that is. He's behaving like a prison guard and Buffy's had to have a word with him. It's all okay now and Dawn's boyfriend is getting over his terror. 

Everyone says hello. 

Miss you. 

Willow. 

* 

Rupert turned to the window and stared out at the night.   
  



	4. Mera.

Chapter Four

  


Mera.

On the nineteenth of January, Mera opened her door and found Rupert standing there holding her book. 

He smiled apologetically at her. "So very sorry I took so long." 

Mera smiled and took the book from him. "Perfectly all right, I wasn't worried. Would you like to come in? It's probably a pit compared to your place, but it's clean." 

"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to come up to my house. Have some tea and a chat, you know." 

"What? Have a nose around Little Eden? Of course!" Mera grabbed her coat. "Been itching to see the inside of that place ever since I got here. Lead on." 

* 

Rupert had lit a large fire in his lounge and Mera sat down beside it, looking around the room appreciatively, taking note of the classic inglenook fireplace and the black ceiling beams. The room wasn't over-furnished and gave an impression of cosy spaciousness. Very tasteful. She nodded approvingly at the prints on the walls. 

Rupert came in with a tray. "If you take your shoes off be careful where you walk - there's pine needles in the carpet." 

"This is a beautiful house," said Mera. "Nice to see you haven't overdone it. People can get a bit ostentatious with places like these." 

"Thank you." Rupert poured the tea and offered her some sandwiches. "I'm glad you agreed to come. I haven't got to know people here yet, and I had a hankering for conversation." 

Mera grinned. "And to show off your house and talk about that book." 

He chuckled. "You're very astute. Have you always lived in this area? You've a slight accent I don't recognise." 

"I've always lived in the south-east, but I've travelled a lot. Are you local?" 

"London, originally. I've just come back from several years in the United States, and quite frankly I'm surprised I don't sound like a Californian." 

"Where do you work?" 

"Near Brockworth," he said unguardedly. 

"That little place?" Mera frowned. "But the only thing around there is the Council. Are you a Watcher?" 

Rupert froze with his cup in front of his lips. "What?" 

"Sorry. Doesn't matter. This is a nice - " 

"No, you said Watcher." Rupert stared at her in surprise. "How...you know about the Council?" 

"Oh, so you _are_ a Watcher!" Mera's eyes lit up. "How fascinating!" 

"How - " 

"I've been around, like I told you. You'd be surprised what you pick up over the years. Well, it wouldn't surprise you, of course." She bit into a sandwich. 

"But - " 

"Please, Mr. Giles. An organisation like that can't exist for centuries without someone finding out about it. I've studied the supernatural for years. The Council of Watchers isn't common knowledge, but there _are_ people who know." 

"Good lord!" Rupert sat back. "So you know about - ah -" 

"Watchers and vampires and Slayers and demons, oh my incredible gosh-golly. Yes. The supernatural is fascinating. I dabble a lot. You might say it's a hobby." 

Rupert was astonished at what he was hearing. "Dabble! Have you any idea how dangerous it can be?" 

"Yes," she said calmly. "That's why I'm still alive." She picked up another sandwich. "These are very tasty." 

"So when you said you'd tried those spells on vampires - " 

"I was not being a looney." She grinned knowingly at him. "There are ways of trapping vamps, you should know that." 

"Yes I know, but - that book's all about control. Why would you want to control one?" 

"I don't. I wanted to know if they could overcome their affliction." 

"Affliction? You think it's some kind of _disease_? Some kind of handicap?" 

"Well...yes, in a way." Mera frowned. "You do know they live like that with their original personalities intact? Terrible thing, really." 

"But they kill - " 

"No, no, no. That's the demon, isn't it? Underneath it all, their real selves are still there - very well hidden. I wanted to know if it was possible to, er, control the demon and let the person loose." 

Despite his offended sensibilities, Rupert found himself thinking about Spike. "So," he said slowly. "You think if the demon could be controlled, the person would take charge?" 

"Why not?" 

Rupert thought in silence while Mera started on a slice of cake, then he put down his cup and sat forward. "Let me tell you about a vampire I know." 

* 

Over the next two weeks Rupert continued to tackle his ever-growing report and discussed it every day with Quentin and Michael at Headquarters. He telephoned Olivia frequently and tried to arrange a time when they could meet again. He had recovered from the shock of her disclosure and found himself angry at the way the fates were treating the woman he loved and his old friend Michael. He felt a sense of frustrated helplessness which made him short-tempered and somewhat volatile and his e-mails to the Scooby Gang became infrequent simply because he had nothing good to say to them. He didn't tell them about Olivia. He could barely think about it. 

His only relief came in the form of frequent conversations with Mera. Her frank nature and occasionally blunt manner of speech attracted him and he found her easy to talk to. Very soon he told her about Olivia and her almost matter-of-fact sympathy was a relief to him. She was always cheerfully willing to natter. 

On the fourth of February Rupert visited Mera yet again and spent a lively afternoon in her kitchen, always her kitchen, diverting himself with a discussion on the use and necessity of spell ingredients. 

"It does seem to be mainly about concentration," said Rupert. "I know that most ingredients are crucial, but perhaps there are some that are purely for the practitioner to focus on - to help the concentration." 

Mera disagreed. "No, that's not it. I admit that it seems not all the ingredients are crucial but let's face it - these concoctions work. And I know that there are recipes that require the removal of only one item for the spells to become something entirely different. One item, mind you, that you or I could easily think wasn't important. I agree it would be fascinating to experiment but god, it would be dangerous." 

"Yes, I suppose so. Can't help thinking about it, though." 

"Thinking's fine. Not knowing when to refrain from acting on those thoughts isn't fine. Which really is something the human race as a whole could do with learning." 

Rupert looked thoughtful. "There's one spell for tracing someone's line back through thousands of years - the spell calls for Dragon's Tooth.. You only get a few years history. That one never works." 

"Well, it won't. Everyone uses alligator teeth or komodo dragon, or bloody iguanas - when they should really be stealing dinosaur remains from the museums." 

"What?" Rupert blinked at her. 

"Well, what are you going to use to connect you to the distant past? Something that lived and died only recently? It doesn't have to be dinosaurs, but it must be something that was alive a long time ago. How else would it take you back there?" She shrugged. "There's a lot that's been forgotten" 

"I still can't fathom how you know all this 'forgotten' stuff." 

"I've had a long time to study." Mera stood up. "Come upstairs. I want to show you my collection." 

* 

Mera's second bedroom was a mini museum and Rupert was staggered at some of the things she had in there. 

He picked up a book in wonder. "And here's another mythical book," he said. "I thought this was - ah - like Lovecraft's 'Necronomicon'. Fiction." 

Mera nodded at it. "Well, there it is." 

"Yes indeed. Good god, where did you get all of this?" 

There were some truly outlandish pieces of magical paraphernalia and some items that looked too old for comfort. With a grimace he picked up a moonstone swastika set in gold and looked at the designs on the back. His eyebrows shot up. 

"Is this Celtic? The old Irish gold?" 

Mera nodded. "I had it specially made. It's about eighteen hundred years old." 

Rupert studied the priceless museum piece. "This symbol's suprisingly common in Britain - gravestones, rock carvings - " 

"Fylfots. Yes, I know. I've carved a few myself." 

"Such a shame their true meaning is lost." Rupert held it up to the light and shook his head. "You couldn't _give_ this away now. Not to someone you'd want to call a friend, anyway." 

Mera stood behind him, waiting. "Yes. One of the oldest good luck charms now thoroughly poisoned even though they used the reversed form. Still, perhaps in time - " 

"Ha. A couple of thousand years, yes." Rupert looked around again. "I'd swear everything in this room is priceless! How did you do it? I know someone who would give both her legs to get her hands on this collection." 

"I expect you do. This isn't all of it, though. My home in Sussex has a cellar full of stuff." 

"Oh, I thought you lived here. You're - what, holidaying?" 

"No, I'm here to meet someone." 

Rupert looked closely at a carved stone. "Well, you met me," he said absently. 

"Yes," agreed Mera, staring at the back of his head. "I did." 

Suddenly Rupert became very alert. "What did you say?" He picked up the swastika again and turned to her. "Eighteen hundred - you had this _made_?" 

Mera sighed. "At last. Let's go downstairs." 

* 

"I'm much, much older than I look," Mera said with a laugh. "How many women would love to say that?" 

They were sitting at the table in Mera's bright kitchen, Rupert cautiously drinking coffee and remembering the first time he had met her. He realised now that she'd planned this from the start, all of it. Christmas Eve in the pub - she'd brought with her just exactly the right book to attract his attention and he remembered her willingness to let him borrow the priceless thing - him, a complete stranger. The swastika also: a volatile symbol that only a blind person would ignore. He felt annoyed and somewhat betrayed at being so easily caught and he was sickened that he'd told her about Olivia. 

Rupert didn't know who or what Mera was and was feeling very wary, but he suppressed the urge to simply leave. He was curious. He studied her as she ate an apple, a coffee at her elbow and a silver cross at her throat. Close-cropped curly brown hair, a slightly peculiar but otherwise unremarkable face. Short, with a slender figure. Aside from the atrocious glittery green nail colour she was wearing, everything about her looked quite normal. How could this woman be eighteen hundred years old? 

"I'm over five thousand years old," she said casually. 

Rupert's hand jerked and spilled hot coffee over his trousers. Mera quickly handed him a cloth and he dabbed at himself, thinking furiously. 

Mera looked contrite. "Sorry, but there really is no gentle way to say something like that, is there?" 

Rupert tossed the cloth onto the table, feeling angry now. "You could have said 'Brace yourself.' God!" He looked hard at her. "Five thousand years? _Five_?" 

"Yes, and it seems to have gone in the blink of an eye." She took a deep breath. "I was born here in Britain. Judging by what I see in the mirror I believe I was about forty when I became, ah - what I am. My tribe didn't count birthdays the way we do now." 

"So you weren't born this way? Then how did you become what you are?" He wondered how she would prove her words. 

She smiled. "Ah. Now I introduce the only other person like me. Her name is Path and she's a _lot_ older than me." 

"Older? What is she?" 

"No. You're going to hear the story of me for now, although it does include Path. The abridged version, mind you - there's too much to tell in one sitting. You'll hear Path's tale later. Do you have the time for a story now?" 

"If I didn't, I'd make time." 

"Curiosity overcomes dislike, eh? I'm not the most subtle person alive." Mera smiled at him. "Here we go then. I was born into a tribe that lived right down on the coast about thirty miles from here, around what is now the Sussex area. Quite uneventful lives we lived. We did the usual tribal things, nothing outstanding - but we knew all about ghosties and ghoulies and long-leggity beasties. Everyone did in those days; it wasn't something we could ignore, not if we wanted to survive. It was only recently - by which I mean the last thousand years or so - that people began to suffer from this 'selective memory' disease that everyone has nowadays. So, between growing food and making clothes and having children, we fought these beasties and kept them at bay. We were quite good at it, as I recall." 

"I think I must have been about thirty when Path came to our area. I learned later that she'd been in Britain for a long time: she told me she'd come across the land-bridge from what is now France after the ice pulled back a good nine or ten thousand years ago - about the time the Council came here. When she arrived on our land she made herself a place in the woods and settled in. We'd never seen anyone like her and I remember the buzz her arrival caused. Her skin was black as jet, smooth as silk, and covered in dotted patterns. Her hair was wild and she put some kind of red clay mixture on it." 

Rupert looked distant and opened his mouth, but Mera ignored him. "She was fascinating! Strings of beads all over the place. Dressed in woollen blankets. She couldn't speak much more than a few croaks but she got along with sign-language very well. We'd creep up to the edge of her clearing and watch her. She was very strong and we could so easily have taken her for a demon of some kind, but we didn't - she didn't threaten us, you see, so we just watched, like children. Slowly we came to trust her and became friends. She helped us a lot against the dark creatures who were appearing more and more around that time. Path told me later - much later - that we'd had a hellmouth close to us all the time. It's dead now, closed up. She grew plants we'd never seen before and she traded with the tribe. She knew a lot about medicine too, such as it was in those times, and she was a master mage. Anyway, she took a particular interest in me. I'd hover close by pretending to be collecting wood or food and she'd beckon me over. But it was a long time before I took up her offer. I was a shy thing in those days." 

"You. Shy." Rupert was feeling less than subtle himself. 

"Ha. Wouldn't say boo to a goose. But I went to her in the end: curiosity, you see. She was so _strange_. I told her my name and she showed me how to talk to her with my hands - simple stuff but effective. Over time we became very good friends. 

"As I grew older I noticed that she didn't seem to change in any way. I'd puzzle over that but it didn't worry me - I trusted her. Then I started to feel ill. I grew thin and there was pain all over my body. I've no idea what I had. Path became worried." 

Mera paused and stared at her cup, smiling slightly. "One day I couldn't leave my bed - my lungs were filling up, and Path came and handed me a long, scraggy piece of cloth with a series of drawings on it. She was tearful and very nervous. The drawings told me what she was, how she could help me. I was surprised but not as much as you'd think. I wasn't frightened either." She looked at Rupert. "I'm an empath, you see. Like her. This is what she'd seen in me from the start. I knew her feelings, her innermost character. There was nothing bad in there and she'd been a good friend to me for years. She wasn't one of the dark creatures, no matter what her drawings - anyway, I thought about her offer for some time and Path stayed with me. Then - oh god, I looked through the door of my hut and the sun was setting in the most beautiful pinks and oranges. I've always loved sunsets. I made up my mind right then and told her I didn't want to die." 

"Just like that? Because of a sunset?" 

"Well, yes. Have you never looked at a sunset?" She sighed. "I knew I didn't have a lot of time left to me and Path had just shown me a glimpse of a world I knew almost nothing about. Plus, I didn't want to leave the one I did know." 

Rupert saw that Mera was looking hard at him and he felt a little uncomfortable. "So how did she do it?" he asked. "With magic?" 

"No. With blood. First she drained me of some of mine, then she gave me some of hers." 

Rupert stared at her. "What?" His thoughts moving very fast, he looked at the cross she wore, the sunlight gleaming on her hair. She couldn't be a vampire. 

"You need proof," she said. "Watch." 

To Rupert's horror Mera slowly let her face change into the dreadful demonic visage he was so familiar with. He went cold and glanced quickly at the kitchen door. Mera smiled sadly, displaying long fangs, her yellow eyes crinkling at the corners. Rupert froze. 

"I haven't done this for a very long time," Mera said quietly. "It's ugly." The smile dropped from her face. "I may look like one of them. But I'm not." 

Rupert's paralysis vanished and he surged out of his chair, knocking it over. "Jesus Christ!" 

"Had sod all to do with it." Mera let her human face return. 

"Bloody right, he didn't! You're a demon!" 

"You know nothing about it." 

Furious, frightened and utterly confused, Rupert said flatly: "I'm not sure I want to." He turned then and left the house. 

Mera sat back in her chair and tapped her fingers on the table. "Now we'll see." 

* 

Dear Willow. 

Well, here is some news for you all, especially Buffy. Personally, now that I've calmed down a little I don't know what to think. 

On Christmas Eve Olivia and I met a woman. Her name is Mera. Today she told me what she is. I want to say right now that at no point have I detected any danger from her, although after her revelation today I was very disconcerted and left her house in rather a hurry. I feel now that I was somewhat rude. I *will* be going to see her again tomorrow. 

This woman can walk in the sun, wear crosses, and I wouldn't mind betting that if she chose to she could bathe in holy water. 

BUT SHE IS OVER 5000 YEARS OLD AND *APPEARS* TO BE A VAMPIRE. 

She eats human food. As far as I know she does not drink blood. She has a friend named Path. This is the woman who made Mera what she is. Path is over nine thousand years old! 

Please ask Anya and Spike if they have ever heard of these beings. There must be *some* sort of popular myth about them. 

Hope you have all had a less trying day than I have. 

Love to you all. 

Giles. 

* 

"Disconcerted. Yeah, right, Giles. I bet you ran out of there like a rabbit." Buffy sat on the sofa in her lounge and frowned at the message. "Vampires who aren't. Wow. Looks like it's all happening in England." She handed the paper to Anya. 

"Do you think this Mera could have a soul?" asked Willow. "If she can wear crosses and everything?" 

Buffy shrugged. "No idea. I'm starting to think I don't know what the hell a soul is. I mean - look at me: twice dead and still upright. What about _my_ soul? Urgh, no - don't go there." 

"Oh!" Anya said suddenly, waving the message. "This is familiar! Vampires who can walk in the sun. I can't remember exactly but I know I've heard of it." 

"Where did you hear it?" asked Buffy. 

"I just told you I can't remember." 

"It's the nine thousand years old bit that I'm having fun with," said Xander. "God, that's - that's before _anything_." 

"Before me," agreed Anya. 

Buffy stood up. "I'm gonna go find Spike." 

"What can he tell you?" asked Xander. "Anya's a thousand years old and she can't remember much. Spike's only a hundred and twenty-something." 

"Anya wasn't a vampire. Maybe vamps do have a 'popular myth' about it." Buffy took the message from Anya. "I'll see you guys later." 

* 

"Oh, yeah." Spike leant against a stone coffin in his crypt and read the message again. "Yeah. There's always stories about vamps that can go in the sun. I thought it was all crap. A myth, like he says." 

"Alligators in the sewers?" Buffy was disappointed. 

"More like the Grail. Put it this way: there's always someone who knows someone who was sired by some idiot who says he saw one getting off a bus once. That's as far as it gets." He looked at her. "You had your hair cut. Looks good." 

"Thanks, you're the only one who's noticed." Buffy sighed. "I was hoping I could give Giles something, but I think he knows more than us." 

"It's interesting though." Spike frowned thoughtfully at the message. Then he grinned. "At least now I can say I know someone who knows a vamp that can go in the sun." 

"That's no help." 

"Sorry. To make up for it I'll do tonight's patrol." 

"Thanks."   
  
  



	5. Revelations.

Chapter Five

  


Revelations.

Rupert spent the better part of the next day arguing with himself over what he'd seen, so it was well into the afternoon when he finally arrived at Mera's house, and when she opened her door he looked at her standing in the weak sunlight and wondered again if he had dreamed it all. 

"Well, that took you long enough." Mera waved him inside. When he hesitated, she sighed. "Don't be an idiot. If I had a mind to kill you I could do it while I was having a shower. Come _in_." 

Embarrassed and still a little wary, Rupert stepped across the threshold. 

Mera let the door close with a slight bang. "Did you tell your precious Council about the terrible vampire who walks in the sun?" 

"N-no." 

"Well, that's hopeful anyway." 

Rupert turned to her. "You said you weren't one of...of them. And you didn't need an invitation to enter my house." 

"Yes?" 

He frowned. "And you're very good at pushing me off-balance." He hefted a bag. "I've brought a tape-recorder to even the score. With many tapes." 

"Damn good idea. Do you want wine or beer?" 

"Wine please. Just how long did you and your book wait in the pub for me?" 

"Every night for two weeks. It was very boring." She led him through into her lounge. 

Rupert looked around. The room was bright with February sunlight, and on a table several African Violets sat clustered around a blooming slipper orchid. A tall oak bookcase held volumes on history, politics, art and house-plants, and several dog-eared science-fiction books lay on a coffee table. A few original paintings and a hand-woven rug hung on a wall. There was a marked lack of anything magical. 

"History books?" Rupert asked. 

"I like a laugh as much as the next person." 

He thought about that and chuckled. "Written by the winners." 

"Yes indeed." Mera opened a cabinet and took out a bottle of wine and some glasses. "Shall we sit by the window? I take it you're expecting me to spill my guts today so you switch on your tape and I'll just start." 

* 

"This immortality business, oh my. While it's wonderful to know that, barring accidents, I will see the sun set a hundred or a thousand years from now, it all requires a lot of forethought and preparation. Especially now. It's a pain. Give me the days when one could walk from France to Greece without anyone demanding to see little bits of grubby paper...as if this would prove you weren't planning on killing anyone." 

Rupert smiled. "Most people would be happy just to go back a few decades to their childhoods." He shook his head, amazed. "You want to return to the golden years of, what - the first century?" 

"The old times weren't all that golden and you, my dear, would choke on the body odours. Mind you, I did watch the Romans come. That was bracing - Boudica and the battles." 

Rupert felt his head swim. "You knew Boudica?" 

"No, I only saw her from a distance. Wild little thing, she was. Very angry. These feminists today could take a few lessons from her about being on top." Mera chuckled, her eyes distant. "Burned down Londinium, she did. Now, _that's_ a woman I'd like to have met." 

Rupert realised that he was staring at her with his mouth open. He shook himself. "One thing that's confusing me." 

"Only one?" 

"Ha. How is it you're so, ah, 'with it'? Considering when you were born - I mean, you seem to fit so well into this time. True vampires just seem to stop when they're turned." 

"Whoo, that's a strong one. Happily, however, it's one I've thought about before so I have a ready answer. All right, look - given a big enough brain and the opportunity, everything alive will learn and mentally evolve. For god's sake, there's even gorillas who communicate with pictures." 

"Now, with your vampire - their personalities are ruled by their demons but given the chance...well, look at Spike. If he survives another hundred years and manages to keep his demon at bay he will have gained attitudes and ideals that he doesn't have now, just like an ordinary human. Better than that, look at Path. She's so much older than me that she wouldn't even be able to communicate if she wasn't able to learn and grow. She may have been born way back down the evolutionary scale but she's just as capable as you or me. She does all her communication through sign and telepathy." 

"Telepathy?" Rupert asked, surprised. "True telepathy?" 

"Yes. Being turned enabled me to hear her. I imagine if you were turned by Path or myself, you would be able to hear the two of us." 

"Vampires don't have this ability." 

"No. The poor sods are completely alone. But to get back to Path - she's very eloquent in her 'speech', but also very direct: the way of her people. She gets her message across, believe me. Doesn't let herself get sidetracked. She understands the modern world but doesn't like it, and who can blame her? These times literally stink. She lives far, far away from everything, quite happy, and if she could I swear she'd live on Mars. Now don't mistake me, Path _is_ a primitive. But, like me, she moves with the times as much as she's able, or wants to." 

"Does she never get weary?" 

"Nooo. Path has her own very special primitive view of life. She lives for the Now and the future and doesn't give much thought to the past; she doesn't let it hang on her. She's probably the most uncomplicated being in existence." 

"We're all products of the times we live in. I just happen to have lived in quite a few and they've all had an influence on me. For instance: there was a time when I stood by the scaffolds in France and thought nothing of watching the heads fall and the blood run. I didn't necessarily cheer, but I wasn't disturbed. Times have always been violent and death is the norm, no matter how much people nowadays like to think it isn't. Death and violence amongst the paintings and poetry. Once, in London, I held up a little girl so that she had a better view of a multiple hanging. Good grief! It's possible that before I attended the hanging I'd read a sonnet or done some needlework or something equally bloody dainty. Public executions, huh. It was just the way it was. We truly didn't know any better." 

"But now, for just about the first time in history most educated people frown upon this sort of thing, and I frown too. I have learnt, you see. It's not so much when we're born as when we live that shapes us. First, I was shaped by the time I was born in; it gave me my stupendous lack of subtlety. Later, I was shaped by the Celts, then by the Romans. I was shaped again by eleventh century Britain - I went all French - and up through the years, and now the twenty-first has me in it's teeth. I could add something here about cycles, population explosions, power-fuelled arrogance and the fall of civilisations, but I won't." 

"Some opinions I hold now will change in the future - I know this. But the _fundamental_ things I've come to know throughout all these years will not dissappear, no matter what happens. For example, I did not believe in the Church's persecution of witches, no matter how vehement they were on the subject, because I already knew - one: witches were not what the church was pretending they were, and two: it was all hypocrisy anyway. So you see, if public executions ever become popular again in this country - and televised, written up in newspapers, cheered at, betted on - no matter what the pressure to conform, I will most definitely never attend one again. Ever. You see? I may have been born over five thousand years ago, but the brain I was born with is the same as yours, more or less, and I'm not controlled by anything except _me_. I hope all that made sense." 

Rupert nodded, a little boggled by her long speech. "Are you going to tell me how Path came to be?" 

"I am." Mera looked at him thoughtfully, studying his face. When he began to fidgit, she smiled. "Now we start the journey. You, I think, may not like it very much. But I've taken your measure and I don't think you'll actually reject it, not when you've thought about it." 

Rupert looked bemused. "Well, I-I...I'll try to keep an open mind." 

"Of course you will. That's why I've approached you. But be warned: I'm rather impatient with knee-jerk reactions. I've seen too many of them through the years and they piss me off something chronic." 

* "Imagine a demon, the last demon. With a capital 'D'. Colossal, the colour of bronze. Alone. Desperate. Lifting his fists high and bellowing out across the night with the bodies of his victims around his feet." 

Rupert gaped at her. 

She shrugged. "Sometimes I can't stop myself." 

"You're going right back to the beginning?" 

"Yes. That's where Path's story begins." 

"_Pardon_?" 

"Oh yes. That Demon was responsible for a lot more than just vampires." 

"Good lord! She's _that_ old? Are you sure?" 

"Quite sure. Now let me get on with it. We have a Demon standing all alone and one thing is certain: there must have been at least one near-dead human close by him." 

"That he'd bitten. To make a vampire. Yes, I know this part - " 

"No you don't. You haven't a clue as to what really happened. He may have bitten the poor sod, but that's immaterial. Now, as few interruptions as possible please." Mera re-gathered her thoughts. "So. His people had lost. Humanity was the victor. In a desperate bid to retain a place on Earth this last Demon attempted to gain a hold on the burgeoning human race. He couldn't breed to increase his number and there were too many humans to fight. So he tried the only other way he could think of - the 'spiritual' way, if you like. Using what must have been extremely desperate measures, he left his body behind and entered the dying human. But something went wrong: he didn't fully succeed. In the act of transferring himself his spirit _split_. Into three separate parts, each containing an aspect of himself but not one of them retaining all his features. One split became the vampire - yes, what?" 

Rupert was shocked. "Good god!" 

"No. Bad luck." 

"He split? I've never heard of this!" 

"I know." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Definitely." 

"But - but why did it go wrong?" 

Mera shrugged. "Accident? It's almost certain he was desperate and rushed the whole thing. No-one knows - except the Powers, I expect." 

"Perhaps it was them, intervening." 

"Them?" Her voice was suddenly full of contempt and Rupert's eyes opened wide. "Them? Do me a favour! Have you ever known them to lift a finger to prevent anything bad happening? Those smug bastards aren't inclined to shift their asses for _any_ reason. Oh, they'll give people visions, gift various poor sods with strange talents, but actively help? Did they help you with Glory? They make me sick." 

Rupert stared at her. 

"Don't look like that," she snapped. "I can be an - an 'atheist' if I choose. An unimpressed-by-the-Powers person. And I do choose. Unless they actually prove me wrong at some point, I can think of only one thing less useful than a vampire, and that's the Powers. We're supposed to respect them, look up to them in awe, and for what? What do they _do_? Nothing truly useful that I've seen in five thousand years." She sighed hard. "No - it wasn't them who stepped in. I'm sure if they'd wanted to they could have stopped him cold and we wouldn't have this problem now. Unless, of course, they wanted to play with us. That wouldn't surprise me." Her voice was acid. 

"Perhaps it's all a test," said Rupert carefully, stunned at her reaction. 

"Ha! Yes, lab-rats." 

"No, I mean - perhaps they're watching, waiting for us to learn, to grow - " 

"Yes, as I said. Lab rats. Twitch it a little here, nudge it a little there and watch as we scurry. Pah!" This was obviously a touchy subject with Mera. She forced herself to calm down. "Path doesn't agree with me on this one, by the way. We've had some very, um, _interesting_ arguments, the sort that make the fangs appear. I think she knows more about what actually happened back then than she's told me. All she'll say is that she learned, right back at the beginning, that the Three - the three splits, that is - can never come together. What that means exactly she's never made clear. Personally, when I think about it, all I can imagine is some kind of revolting, well-timed, three-person orgy. Now _that's_ something that'll never happen." 

"Perhaps the Three should never meet?" 

"Well no, because there was a time when a Slayer, a vampire and myself were all together in a room in Australia and nothing happened except the vampire was killed. It may mean the Three can never come together spiritually and become the Demon again." She straightened up. "Anyway, one thing we can be sure of is that this split was not the Demon's plan because he lost himself in the process, and we now have this whole mix-up with vampires and Slayers and whatever you want to call Path - and I'm sure that wasn't what he intended. It was all a monumental, cosmic balls-up." 

Rupert rubbed his temples. "All right. He split into three. So that's vampires and - and Path?" When Mera nodded he shook his head in wonder. "So what else? What became of the third split?" 

"I just told you." 

"You did?" Rupert frowned, thinking, and slowly his face drained of colour. "Oh no," he said quietly. "No. No, that can't be." 

Mera gave him no more time. "Your beliefs and preferences matter not one whit. This is what happened - " Rupert stood up and made a wide gesture, ready to give vent. Mera simply looked at him and said flatly: "Sit down." To his surprise, he fell back into his chair. Emotionless, Mera continued: "You asked the questions. These are the answers. You assured me that you would try to keep an open mind and you now have an idea of how much effort that will take. But I am not going to repeat myself and you are going to listen. I am in no mood for an argument. If necessary I will bind you to that chair and I will not have to move one muscle in order to do so. Do you understand me?" 

Stunned, Rupert could only nod. He was beginning to realise that it was far too easy to forget what this woman was. 

Mera relaxed and gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry about that. It's just that I don't want to have to go over this again. And again." She sighed. "Now, this is the long part. Attend. Three-way split. Part number one, containing all the Demon's desire for vengeance against the human race, and all his malice, venom and evil went as planned into the unfortunate human who became the first vampire. It took him over completely, his personality enslaved." 

"The other two parts flew wide, unguided but still looking for someone to - ah - infect. Part number two, containing just about everything the vampires have minus the evil side and _without_ the need for blood or the instinct to kill, went into Path who was ill at the time and close to death." 

She took a sip of her drink. "Now, part three is in a different class to the other two. It isn't possible to pass it to others in the manner of vampires because this third part _is still out there_, flying free all the time since this began. This is the famous 'Source of the Slayer' you have heard so much about and in its freedom is _so very much_ stronger and bigger than the other two parts. Path believes that if it had done as the others had and entered a host, that human would have expired immediately. Exploded, probably. It has a measure of intelligence; the intelligence that the other two lost when they joined with their hosts, so it probably made a conscious decision to remain free." 

"The Source has none of the Demon's evil or malice. The vampire got all of that. But it still has a sense of his original purpose, you see, so it _lends_ it's power to a human. I imagine that the first Slayer was very surprised when she was taken over: I know Path was. We were of the opinion that it was single-minded, moving this power to a new host only when the old had died, but Buffy has proved us wrong by refusing to stay dead. Obviously once a Slayer, always a Slayer - no matter how often she comes back. Even though a new Slayer has been called, it is still lending Buffy the power." 

"The longer a Slayer lives the more this power works on her, making her stronger. It contains a good portion of the Demon's strength and gifts the Slayers with his sense of duty and a very little of his dark attributes except his immortality, and, like Path and I, Slayers retain their souls - for all the difference that makes - and their true selves. Their personalities are not compromised." 

"But the Source's power is enormous. It is also very - testy. It does not appreciate being interfered with. You truly didn't know what you were doing when you invoked it. If you rolled everything that has ever happened to you and Buffy into one dangerous whole it wouldn't touch the peril inherent in your actions that day. I imagine it sent you a warning never to do it again. If so, I hope you took it to heart?" 

"We - received a message to that end, yes." Rupert had found his voice. "Ah - his sense of duty?" 

"Oh yes. This Demon was very loyal to his kindred. Slayers are instilled with a duty to their own kind. I'm sure Buffy has done a lot of complaining during her short life but she's still gone out there and done her job, hasn't she?" 

"Y-yes, she has. But why should the Source fight vampires? If it is, as you say, kindred." The word made Rupert's mouth feel dirty. 

"The Source isn't evil. Simple as that. Perhaps, being on the good side, it simply wants to fight the good fight. Or maybe it sees vampires as some kind of reflection of itself - it's evil siblings, which in fact is what they are - and it doesn't like what it sees. Think about Angel. Now think about Angelus and _his_ tastes. Do you think that if Angel could somehow confront a physical Angelus, he would fight him? Of course he would. He'd try to kill him. He wouldn't stop until he _had_ killed him." 

Rupert frowned. "How do you know about Angel?" 

"Oh, Path and I keep an eye on things. When something like Angel or Buffy occurs, we know about it. We feel it. Mind you - Spike was a surprise, probably because the source of his change is science, not the supernatural. I knew nothing of his transformation until you told me." 

"Did Path ever tell you what it was like when she was changed?" Rupert had decided to avoid thinking about Slayers for the moment. 

"Yes. It was unpleasant and terrifying, and she thought her death had come. She was quite pleased when nothing of the sort happened." 

Rupert frowned. "Nothing of the sort? But don't you - " 

"It isn't necessary to die in order to become one of us. The candidate must be weak, obviously, or it won't take hold, but there's no dying involved. That's another difference between us and vampires." Abruptly, Mera stood and picked up the empty wine bottle. "Well, you've heard the basics. I know where there's a whole stack of manuscripts that will confirm all of this for you. Time for a refill, I think, while you inwardly digest." She left the room. 

Rupert stared at the far wall, not knowing what to think. Something deep inside him knew the truth of what he'd been told: it made so much sense and explained such a lot about Buffy. But it warred with everything he had learned as a Watcher; all his training and the reason for it, his whole purpose. He felt a need for sleep and knew that this was nothing more than his mind attempting to shy away from information it didn't want to think about. 

Mera spent some minutes in the kitchen, giving him time. When she returned he had his chin on his hand and was looking blankly out of the window. 

"I put together some munchies." Mera handed him a plate."Well, Mr Open-Minded? What do you think?" 

"I'm trying not to. Although - um, I have to admit it's fascinating." 

"It's a bloody tragedy." 

"Yes. Yes it is." Rupert switched off his recorder and slowly ate a sandwich. Then he looked at Mera. "This Demon. Was he really the colour of bronze?" 

"God knows. Slice of cake?"   
  



	6. Communications.

Chapter Six

  


Communications

Dear Willow. 

Please tell Buffy to get a computer! If I can cope with one, so can she! 

This is an update for Buffy about Mera and Path. For all of you really, but mostly for her. 

Yesterday Mera told me how Path came to be. I taped it all and a report is in the attatchment. I think you'll find it interesting to say the least. 

I'll say again, I believe I have no reason to fear for my safety. Mera allowed me to test her last night and there is not a trace of evil in her. 

I'm sure she has her reasons for telling me but she hasn't disclosed them yet. 

I must go now, it's very late and I am exhausted. It's been a trying few days. 

Very much love to all of you. 

Giles. 

* 

A series of phone-calls from an excited Willow brought the Scooby Gang together in Buffy's lounge. 

"Wow." Xander stared at Rupert's long report. 

"I second that," said Willow. "Path is as old as the first vampire! I mean, do we even know how old that is?" 

Buffy shrugged. "I have no idea. I think it's a research party, folks." 

"Research?" asked Tara. "But - do you think there's even a chance these people are mentioned in the books? There's only the two of them." 

"Right," said Dawn. "And I bet this Path has kept a low profile." 

"Well, we have to look," said Buffy firmly. "We have to be able to _say_ we've looked. If Giles gets into trouble the smallest thing could help." 

"What trouble?" asked Xander. "What's to worry? They've got their souls, they're not evil -" 

Buffy cut him off. "Okay. Then we worry about the fact that they're _almost_ perfectly normal humans who have incredible strength." 

"Telepathy," put in Tara. 

"Control," said Willow. "Mera made Giles sit down just by using words. That's powerful." 

"They probably have great wealth," said Anya. "Vampires don't usually have money, but these two aren't really vampires, are they?" 

"That's a point." Buffy frowned. "And they've had thousands of years to build up a fortune. The biggest fortune. They could probably buy anyone." 

"Except the Council," said Tara. 

"I don't put the Council in the non-bribable category," said Buffy flatly. 

"Oookay," said Xander. "Research it is, then." 

Anya was looking thoughtful. 

"Anya?" asked Buffy. "Have you heard of this?" 

Anya shook her head and shrugged. "It sounds familiar. Vaguely. Something about The Three," 

"Three?" Buffy looked at her, puzzled. "What three? There's only two - Path and the first vampire." 

"I just keep thinking of three. It's very vague. I can't..." Anya looked at Buffy apologetically. "I'm sorry." 

"It's okay." Buffy picked up the report. "I'll go show this to Spike, see if it rings his bell." 

"Why?" asked Xander. "He's already said he doesn't know anything. And don't think you're getting out of the book party." 

"This is new info. I have to ask him. I'll meet you at the Magic Box for the - book party." 

* 

The gang were deep into the books when, an hour later, Spike burst into the Magic Box with Buffy at his heels. 

"What _is_ it?" Buffy sounded exasperated. "Why won't you talk to me? For god's _sake_ - " 

"Willow." Spike's voice was a little shaky. "I need to send a message to Giles. Can I use your computer?" 

Willow rose uncertainly from her seat. "Well - yes, if you need to. What's up?" Her eyes grew wide. "Is it Giles? He's in danger - " 

"No!" said Spike. "No danger. I just - I just need to talk to him, that's all." 

"But -" began Buffy. 

"Buffy." Spike's voice was sharp. "Just leave this one will you, love? No offence, but the only person I want to talk to right now is Giles." He looked at Willow. 

Willow glanced around at the others, shrugged, and picked up her coat. "Okay. Let's go." 

The door of the Magic Box closed behind them. 

"All right, Buffy." Xander shut his book with a snap. "What was that?" 

Buffy seemed unable to look away from the door. "I don't know. It's like he exploded. He read the report. Then he read it again. Then he sat in a trance. Then - pow - he left the crypt and came here." She frowned. "I had to run to keep up." 

* 

"Mera." 

"Oh. Rupert. Hello. And thank you for ruining my wonderful dream." 

"Yes, sorry it's so late. Look, have you any idea why a vampire would read about Path and instantly become very agitated?" 

"Who are we talking about?" 

"Spike. Ah...he's read a report about you and Path that I sent to Buffy, and now he's asking if I can arrange a way to get him over here quickly. He wants to speak to you." 

"Does he, now? Are you going to do it?" 

"I don't know. Quite frankly, I'm rather surprised. All I know is the cheeky sod is expecting me to pay for it. What do you think?" 

"I think William may be one of the most fascinating creatures on this planet. I'd like the chance to talk to him." 

"Fascinating? Well, there speaks someone who's never met him." 

"Perhaps." 

"Well? Again, what do you think?" 

"It's entirely up to you, Rupert. But I will say this: according to you he's been unable to tear himself away from the Slayer virtually since he first met her. If he wants to put several thousand miles between them when he's only just got her back from the dead, well - he must feel it's important." 

"Important to whom?" 

"Himself, obviously. He _is_ a vampire, after all. Anyway, it'll be good to see inside a vamp who isn't governed by his demon. See what's really there." Mera paused. "Did you tell Buffy all of it?" 

"Good god, no! She's had a hard enough time coming back to life! How on earth can I tell her she's related to the things she's spent her life killing? Spike's the only vampire who's ever shown anything resembling humanity. Apart from Angel, that is, and I don't really put him in the same category - his apparent humanity isn't a natural thing. I don't know if any others vampies were chipped - " 

"She's going to find out, you know. Most Slayers don't live long enough to learn how to be human, never mind anything else. The longer Buffy lives..." 

"I know. And I want to be the one she hears it from. I just don't know how to tell her." 

* 

Hello Willow. 

Can you tell Spike that against all the good judgement in existence in the entire universe I've decided to arrange for him to come over. God help us, Mera thinks he's fascinating. 

You're going to have to conjure some kind of false ID for him, or make him invisible or something. Give him someone's passport, perhaps, and put a spell on him. It's that or have him go as freight, which would make *me* laugh if nothing else. 

Let me know what you decide and I'll set it up. I may not be able to pick him up from Heathrow, so I'll arrange a taxi. What a performance this is! 

I won't be mentioning this to the Council. Quentin probably wouldn't have a problem with it, but best not to say anything. 

And now that my disbelief at what I'm doing has reached unmanagable proportions, I'll say goodbye. 

Love to you all 

Giles. 

* 

"I'm not giving him my freakin' passport!." 

"Do as Willow asks, Harris, and be a good boy. If I'm going to let her do the mojo to make people think I'm you - which is bleedin' tragic if you ask me - it's the least you can do." 

"No, the _least_ I can do is not give you my passport and set fire to it instead." 

"What do you need it for? You're not going anywhere. Think of it as a favour to a friend." 

"The day I think of you as a friend I'll kill myself." 

"Oh, Harris. Now, you know you don't mean that." 

"Why can't he go as freight? Why does it have to be _my_ passport? Willow, this is your idea - give him yours." 

"I've already told you I can't make people think Spike's female. It has to be yours, Xander. I'm sorry." 

"I ain't going in a crate, mate. Anyway, Buffy agrees - don't you, pet?" 

"Xander, give Spike your passport." 

"There, see? That's the Slayer talking. Hear that little edge in her voice? You don't want to mess with her - she hits hard when she's cranky." 

"Agh. I hate everything." 

"_Good_ Xander." 

* 

"He's coming over." 

"Have you told anyone else?" 

"You mean the Council? Good lord, no. Some of them want to kill him just for having the presumption to love the Slayer. If they knew he was here Quentin wouldn't be able to stop them." 

"Why would Quentin stop them?" 

"Well, I'm not sure. He's told me that nothing is black and white any more, not to him. Apparently he had a 'wake-up' call. No idea what he meant." 

"A wake-up call. Ha!" 

"What's so funny?" 

"I'll tell you later. So when does the Wonderful William arrive?" 

"He'll be here on the sixteenth." 

"Oh, good. Can't wait." 

"You are very strange." 

* 

February 14th. 

Giles! Buffy here, hello hello hellooo! 

Spike got his flight to New York tonight. 

You *have* to tell me everything! Once you know it, that is. He wouldn't say a word before he left so we have no idea what's going on. 

Let us know how everything is with you - we worry, you know. How's Olivia? Have you seen her lately? Are you still working on your house? Are you planning your garden? I want all the little details, Giles. 

The Hellmouth has heated up a bit. We put down a group of scraggy-looking demons the night before last but it wasn't much of a fight. I'm still amazed at my new strength, takes some getting used to. Willow is getting better and better at the witchy stuff. Tara's improving too, but she'll never catch up with Will, not now. Xander and Anya are still okay and still together. Dawn can be a pain in the ass as usual, but it's improving. She's well into boys now. 

Anyway, better go. 

I still miss you. 

Love always, 

Buffy.XXXXXXXX 

* 

"Hello Mera." 

"Hello, my dear. I hope life remains quiet for you?" 

"It does, thank you. Are you going to tell me about our candidate?" 

"I am. He is a complex man - very intelligent, as we supposed. The last six years have mellowed and strengthened him. He took my disclosure well. He thinks that he is finshed with fighting but our story has fired him - I feel his fascination. He loves a woman but has learnt that he cannot be with her. This gives him great pain." 

"Why can he not be with her?" 

"She will die soon." 

"All mortals die soon." 

"She will die sooner." 

"Ah." 

"She is worthy, Path." 

"You have met her?" 

"I have. They have been separate for a long time - his work made it necessary - but the spark has remained true. She has a feisty centre and there is no badness in her. Theirs would be a fiery union if it came to be." 

"Very well. I agree." 

"Good. Of course, he may not accept." 

"He knows vampires. He knows you. Do not push him. Is he an empath?" 

"No, but he has powerful insight." 

"That is also a talent." 

"Yes."   
  
  



	7. Spike.

Chapter Seven

  


Spike.

It was late in the evening on February the sixteenth, and Rupert was wondering why he bothered watching television at all when his doorbell rang. At last. He opened the front door and looked at his visitor standing tensely in the cold darkness. He spent a moment studing the pale, wary face in front of him before stepping aside. 

"Come in." 

"Thanks." Clutching a small canvas hold-all, Spike stepped into the warm light of Rupert's entrance hall. 

Rupert shut the door on the night. "Drop your coat and bag and come in here." He went into the kitchen. 

"What, no warm greeting?" asked Spike as he followed him. "I was Harris all the way over here. You've no idea how depressing that was." 

Rupert snorted and opened the fridge door. "I've got in a supply," he said, pointing to the packets of blood. "I don't know how long you're going to be here so there's more in a fridge in the garage." 

"Thanks." Spike took a packet and bit into it hungrily. 

Rupert sat at the huge oak table and pointed to a chair opposite him. "Sit." 

Spike sat down and they stared at each other. 

"I'm assuming your chip is still working?" asked Rupert finally, his face stern. 

Spike gave him a tense grin. "You bring me all the way over here and _now_ you're asking?" 

"Well, is it?" 

"Dunno. Haven't tested it for ages." 

"All right. I don't have to warn you - " 

"No." Spike closed his eyes wearily. "No. I know." 

"Right." Rupert sat back. "So why are you here?" 

Spike studied his fingernails. "I think Mera might be able to give me something." 

"Ah. What are you after?" 

"I think she may be able to turn me." 

"Turn you - " 

"Into what she is." 

"Good god!" 

* 

"I'd dismissed what you first wrote about Mera," said Spike. "Well, not dismissed as such - more like 'Oh, so there really are vampires that can walk in the sun. How _nice_ for them.' But then when you sent that report about Path I remembered something - a really vague vamp legend about 'Siblings'. I heard it a long time ago, must have been shortly after I was turned, and when I remembered it the other day it _really_ got me going." 

"Why? Where did you hear it from?" 

"Oh, there was this really old vamp I spent some time talking to once. She was this raggedy mop-doll of a girl, all wild hair and ribbons and wilted flowers - lived in a system of caves in France. Face like a bag of lemons. If I hadn't already met Dru I'd have thought this vamp was off her rocker. Full of stories, she was, well up on the old legends and myths - real 'Golden Bough' stuff, mostly about humans. But this Siblings one was about vampires, which is why I remembered it. More precisely, it was about the very _first_ vampires. Interesting, eh?" 

Rupert frowned slightly and Spike glanced at him. 

"One of these Siblings," he continued. "Was a 'Sister' who 'Held in her hand the gift of the gentle sun'. Now, let me tell you, the words 'gentle sun' are bound to get a vamp thinking no matter how big a moron he is, and I thought about it quite a bit after I heard it. When I read your report about this 'vampire' who could wear crosses and walk in the sun, I thought quite hard and put two and two together. 

"That's when I got excited - that 'gift' word - and asked you to bring me over. I thought this could be my chance to be something that...well, anyway." Spike shrugged. 

"Let me see if I've got this right," said Rupert. "You had me bring you all the way over here on the very slight basis of a legend about a vampire who had the gift of - " 

"No," said Spike. "Held. _Held_ the gift _in_ her hand. I always thought the wording was deliberate. If you hold something in your hand you can do whatever you like with it. You can put it on a shelf, or you can drop it, or bloody bury it…or you can give it to someone. I'm hoping she can give it to me." He put his hands behind his head and looked at the ceiling. "But there's more. After I asked you to bring me over here, I went back to my crypt and thought about it again. I was sure - no, I _knew_ you were talking about one of the Siblings but it was strange, y'know, 'cause something didn't fit." 

Rupert shifted uncomfortably. 

"It didn't fit, Rupert." Spike shot a look at him and spoke deliberately. "You see, the Siblings are triplets. Get that, Giles: _triplets_. Number One is the first vamp, an ordinary bugger like yours truly. Number Two is the sister with the gift, and I think we can safely call her Path, can't we? And Number Three? Well, that's interesting. Number Three kills Number One as soon as they meet." 

"Well - " 

Spike gave Rupert a calculating look. "Everything fitted except for that third Sibling. You wrote about twins. So someone'd got it badly wrong, or was lying, and you know what? I came to the conclusion that was you, mate." 

Rupert shifted again. "Why?" 

"Because when I thought you might be lying I tried to think of a reason why you'd do that, and pretty quickly I came up with a spectacular one, _Watcher_." 

"I - " 

"The Third kills The First," quoted Spike. "The Third Sibling's the bloody Slayer, ain't it? This head on my shoulders ain't just pretty, so don't lie to me, Giles." 

Rupert gave up. "Then I won't," he said quietly. 

Spike slumped in his seat. "Bloody hell." 

"If you mention - " 

"Oh, I'm not going to tell her. That's your job, mate." 

"That's right." 

"Yeah, and if you don't do it soon she's going to work it out on her own. I've seen her reading that report of yours, seen her frowning over it. She must have read it thirty times by now. And I know about those dreams - that run-in you lot had with the first Slayer. If you wanted to keep this from her you shouldn't have given us Mera's description of what Path looks like." 

"I don't _want_ to keep it from her." 

"Well, you better tell her soon, that's all." 

Rupert watched in silence as Spike got up and took another blood packet out of the fridge. He put it in the microwave and warmed it up. 

"Got any beer?" the vampire asked when the microwave pinged. 

"Yes." 

"Good. Now I'm going to hear those tapes you made." 

Rupert hesitated, then nodded and fetched the tapes from his desk in the study. He took Spike into the lounge. "Music centre's over there, and headphones. It's a long story though, and I'm quite tired-" 

Spike looked around the room. "Yeah, well. You just leave me down here and go to bed. Where's my room, and - " he pointed to a large drinks cabinet. "Are the drinks cold in there?" 

"Yes, there's a small fridge. Your room is third on the left at the top of the stairs." 

"This place is just full of fridges. Right." Spike looked at Rupert pointedly. "'Night then." 

"Yes, er- goodnight." Rupert left the lounge in a daze, amazed at how swiftly to this cocky vampire had apparently taken control. On the stairs he looked back through the lounge door and saw Spike crouched in front of the drinks cabinet with the fridge door open, looking at the cans of beer. Wondering what had just happened, Rupert continued up to his room. 

* 

Rupert left his bedroom door open when he went to sleep, reasoning that if Spike was going to go bad he'd have no trouble getting through a locked door. Therefore when he awoke the next morning he heard a loud and enthusiastic rendition of "Friggin' in the Riggin" rising above the sound of the shower in the guest bathroom. 

He groaned, checked his throat and looked at his watch to find that most of the morning was gone. He dragged on some crumpled clothes and went downstairs to call Olivia. He had been keeping her up to date with all the developments, holding nothing back, thinking that it might for a time divert her thoughts, so this morning he told her about Spike's arrival and his reasons for coming. 

They talked for a few minutes and then, hopelessly, he asked her when they would be able to see each other again. As he knew she would, she claimed a prior appointment - with her doctor or the hospital, or the bank, or any one of a large number of things that she simply had to deal with. He knew what she was doing; trying to separate herself from him and spare his feelings, and he was torn between wanting to be with her and respecting her unspoken wishes. 

He said goodbye to her with a familiar ache in his chest. 

* 

Avoiding shafts of sunlight, Spike came into the kitchen as Rupert was eating his breakfast and reached across the sink to pull down the window blind and shut out the sun. 

Rupert glanced at him. "Before you ask, there's Weetabix in the larder - and please keep the vile concoction that I know you're about to make out of my sight while I'm eating." 

Spike grinned and made his breakfast. He placed his bowl on the table next to Rupert's plate and sat down, stirring the thick bloody mess in a way that made it slurp. With slow deliberation he filled a spoon, lifted it, and let the contents fall back into the bowl with a splat. Little dots of red appeared on the table top. 

Rupert gagged and left the table to spit his last bite of breakfast into a piece of tissue. "There's no reasoning with you is there?" 

"Oh, come on, Rupes. You've seen it before." Spike pursed his lips and sucked in a loud mouthful. He grinned at Rupert with red teeth. "Tell you what: you don't comment on my breakfast and I'll not mention your - " he studied the remains on Rupert's plate. "Very healthful fry-up. Yeah, with fried bread, too - how's your arteries, mate? Doing okay?" 

"You keep your mind off my arteries." Rupert made himself some coffee. "I see you left an artistically overflowing ashtray in the lounge. I appreciate the stale air in there, by the way. Open a window next time." 

"Prissy." 

"Or you can stay in the garage," said Rupert with a smile. "Or perhaps I could buy a kennel. I know a pet shop - " 

"All right, all right." Spike wiped blood off his chin. "From now on I'll tidy up and open windows." 

"Thank you." Rupert left the kitchen. 

There was a small television on the work-top and Spike turned it on and watched a few minutes of daytime television with a look of wonder on his face. 

"_What_ is this _shit_?" he demanded when Rupert returned. "Haven't you got satellite?" 

"No." 

"Bloody hell." Spike turned the television off. "When do I see Mera?" 

"Tonight at her house - I've just called her. I'm going to Headquarters now and I'll be back after dark. I don't want to hang about tonight so if you go wandering don't go far." 

"I won't. Are you going to tell them I'm here?" 

"No. They'd kill you if they knew." 

"Kill me? I thought this Quentin guy - " 

"Not him. Others. You offend them. I can't imagine why." 

"Oh yeah - thanks for that, mate. After all the help you've had from me." Spike put his bowl in the dishwasher. "Where's your computer?" 

"In the study." 

"Any games on it?" 

"No." 

"Typical." 

* 

Spike stood on Mera's doorstep and tried to see the immortal in the woman standing in front of him, but all he saw was a grinning face and bright, acquisitive eyes as she looked him up and down appreciatively and invited him in. 

"He's heard the tapes I made," said Rupert. 

"Oh yes?" said Mera, still staring at Spike. "And what did you think of 'em, sweetie?" 

Never having been called 'Sweetie' before, Spike felt a little unbalanced. "Er, good," he said. "Yeah, they were good." 

"Good," mimicked Rupert as they entered Mera's lounge. "You listened to a sweeping story that runs the length and breadth of human history and all you can say - " 

"Oh, Rupert," interrupted Mera. "Shut up and get some beers from the kitchen, would you? Take your time." She waved Spike to a chair. "Like an old woman he is, sometimes." 

Rupert snorted and left the room. 

"So." Mera looked at Spike. "What's your question?" 

* 

Rupert entered the lounge to find Mera sitting on the sofa with her eyes wide and her mouth open. 

"You want me to try to _turn_ you?" she asked slowly, stunned. 

Rupert smiled. 

"Yeah." Spike sat on the edge of his chair. "Is it possible?" 

"Christ, I don't know!" Mera stood up and started pacing. "That was the _last_ thing I expected. It wasn't even on the list!" She turned to Spike. "And you got this idea from the legend? Just because of the word 'gift'? Oh, lad. That's a hell of a long arm you're reaching with." 

"Don't I know it." Spike was earnest. "But it's not - it's not totally impossible, is it?" 

"Whooo, bloody hell!" Mera dropped onto the sofa again. "Um - I'll have to think." 

"Congratulations, Spike," said Rupert. "That's the first time I've seen her fuzzled. Trust you to accomplish it." 

"I don't have an evil demon, you know," said Mera to Spike. "You do. You needed an invite to come in here, which tells me your demon is still alive and well even though you don't behave as if it is. It's a problem." 

"Oh yeah," said Spike. "It's still there. Live an' kicking." Feeling that the name 'Sweetie' had diminished him somewhat, he felt a need to remind her of what he was. "I can still cause mayhem if I want to." He pushed out his chin with a cocky smirk. "If I could bite you, love, I probably would." 

"Don't be an idiot," snapped Rupert. "If you want Mera to try this, cut out the bad-boy rubbish." 

"Yes." Mera looked hard at Spike's face. "You're a pesky one, aren't you? But I'm peskier, so watch it." 

Suddenly acutely aware of how stupid it would be to alienate this woman, Spike backtracked fast. "Sorry. Habit." 

"Yes, I think everything about you is habit. C'mere." Mera patted the sofa. Spike sat beside her and she grabbed his face in her hands. "What a pretty face. Now stay silent." She closed her eyes. "I'm not as good at this as Path is." 

Spike looked at Rupert from the corner of his eye, but the Watcher was staring at Mera. 

After several minutes Mera let Spike go. "I thought as much. You know what people are feeling, don't you? You know their emotions." 

"Er, well," said Spike, a little surprised. "I - yeah, I suppose. It don't work with me, though. Took years to find out what was going on in my head." 

Mera looked away with a little smile. "So that's why you didn't leave," she said quietly. 

Rupert frowned. "Leave what?" 

"Never mind." Mera turned to Spike. "You, my pretty one, are an empath." 

"Er - yeah?" 

"Yes. It explains everything. This is good." 

Rupert stared at Spike. "Good lord. Why didn't I see that?" 

"Because when _you_ looked at him all you were expecting to see was a vampire. You saw no reason to look further." Mera sat back. "Well, this is interesting. Empathic vampire with shackled demon, wants to lose same demon and walk in sun." 

"Lose my demon?" Spike was startled. 

"Well, yes love, of course. You don't think I'd even consider doing this if you were going to keep it, do you? Don't you want to lose it?" 

"No, no, that's not what I meant. Is it possible? Lose the demon?" It was Spike's turn to stand up and start pacing. "All I was thinking was it'd be good if I could sit in the sun with - er, and not burst into flames. But if I could lose my _demon_ - god!" He looked around wildly. 

At last, Rupert realised Spike's motivation. "This isn't about you, is it?" he demanded. "This is about Buffy." 

"Of course it's about Buffy," said Mera, smiling. "Greatest motivation of all for this particular vampire. Ain't it, sweet thing?" 

Spike stared at her with wide eyes and she realised that the voice of calm was needed. "Careful, love," she said quietly. "We don't even know if there's a way. Don't you go getting all het-up. Not at this stage" 

Spike chewed his lip. 

"You hear me?" Mera asked. "I suggest you go home and read something boring. Rupert and I will confer. All right?" 

Spike nodded and left without another word. Rupert and Mera looked at each other. 

"Do you think it's possible?" asked Rupert. 

"I'll talk with Path. But that's not what I want to 'confer' with you about." 

"Oh?" 

Mera took a deep breath. "Now, I don't want you to fly off the handle, all right? I want you to think, as calmly as you can. I want you to take your time and look at it rationally." 

"All right." Rupert was mystified. 

Mera stood up and faced him. "Path and I have considered this ever since you were called as a Watcher. It's mainly why I contacted you when you came back to England. We've been aware of you for years. We watched you panic over your calling and descend into darkness and we watched you overcome it and come back up stronger, a lot like the Slayer has." 

Rupert felt a little cold. "How did you - watch?" 

"As I told you before, we feel things. If it's anything big concerning the Three, we feel it. It comes of being so close to the - the source, if you like. Path's source. Our source. There aren't any thousands of years between us and the Demon. There's Path, and me. It's strong, and you _are_ connected to one of the Three. We're always aware of Watchers but when you were called you stood out like a beacon." 

"All right." Rupert suddenly knew what she was about to say and felt even colder. "What is it you want?" 

"It's time to extend the family. Spike has already offered himself. If we find a way, I think he'll make a fine addition." 

Rupert held his breath, tensing up. 

Mera swallowed. "We offer it to you," she said quickly. "Unlike vampires, you get a choice." 

* 

Dear Willow, Buffy, et al. 

Just a quick word to help straighten my mind out. It's all very amazing. 

We know Spike's reasons now - he wants Mera to turn him. He wants to be like her, whatever that is. If you think about it, Buffy, his motivation is obvious. Mera is going to talk to Path about it. She says he's an empath, which actually makes a lot of sense. She also says he has to lose his demon but I don't know if that's possible without killing him. This is utterly unique, never been done before. 

Bit dizzy at the moment, sorry for the shortness. Anyway, I'll keep you informed as always. 

Love to you all, 

Giles. 

* 

"Sounds like Giles is on overload." Buffy was in Willow's room. "And Spike wants to be like Mera! God, I wasn't expecting that one." 

Willow took the message and read it again. Then she put it down and frowned at Buffy, her mind working very fast. 

Buffy began to squirm uncomfortably. "What?" 

"An empath," said Willow. "He's an _empath_. Buffy - he knows what we're feeling…" 

"Yes, I - " 

"He knows what _you're_ feeling," said Willow seriously. "When you rejected him and we were all so horrid to him - Buffy, he wouldn't go away - " 

"What are you saying?" 

"I'm saying that any other man, or vampire, would have packed his bags and left. Spike didn't." Willow's eyes bored into Buffy's. "Why do you think that is?" 

"I don't have a clue." 

"Yeah, right." 

"I don't!" 

"Do you miss him?" Willow asked slyly. 

"No! Well, yeah, a bit. I mean - he's miss_ing_, isn't he? He was always around and now he's not. I don't get it, Will. What are you - " 

"This thing he wants Mera to do," interrupted Willow. "It may kill him, you know. We may never see him again." She kept her eyes on Buffy. "Ever." 

Willow watched her friend think about that. A faint look of surprise appeared on Buffy's face and she became very still. 

"What are you doing, Will?" Buffy demanded suddenly. 

Willow turned to her computer and switched it off. "You need to think, Buffy." 

"About what?" 

"About the fact that Spike's always known what you're feeling. And about the fact that he refused to give up. And when you've done that, ask yourself this: What Do I Want?"   
  
  



	8. Cogitations.

Chapter Eight.

  


Cogitations.

Early the next morning Rupert stood in his garden, thinking. His shock of last night had faded and now he didn't know what to feel. The only thing that pleased him was the memory of leaving Mera's house calmly this time, saying goodnight and walking slowly throught the village to his home. He knew he hadn't fooled her for a second. 

He remembered only vaguely the conversation they'd had about her offer. He'd tried to talk rationally, questioning her about why they'd chosen him, telling her what his initial feelings were; how even if he wanted to he couldn't think of considering it when Olivia was about to die before her time. He clearly recalled Mera's response to that one: "That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard in a long while." Then she cut off his spluttering protests. "Don't fret about Olivia, Rupert. Path agrees that if she wants to she can come too. She's a worthwhile woman." 

Rupert had sat stunned after that and Mera had smiled at him. "To add three more to our family is, for Path and I, a wonderful thought. But don't worry - I won't push. I won't mention it until you do, even if that means never again. All right?" 

Now, shivering in a chilly wind, Rupert found himself thinking about how old he was. He was shocked at what he was doing, but, like an understanding psychiatrist, he knew why he was doing it. Nothing like an offer of immortality to get a person thinking about death, eh? To get them thinking about age, about how the years fly past faster and faster as you get older until it reaches the point where you barely have time to get used to a year starting before Spring and Summer are gone and the leaves are falling and woosh! you're putting up Christmas tinsel again. The nineties? Where the hell did _they_ go? 

Faster and faster, and here comes the big five-oh, see it? Standing just over there, grinning and waving at you? 

If you're lucky you might have another thirty or forty years - which _will_ pass by like five, you stupid bastard - and you still have a thousand things to do and a million books to read and you'll never. have. time. The places in the world you've always wanted to see - stop. 

And the tragedy, the incredible tragedy that's bad enough to make you want to cry? When your body is fifty your mind will be thirty. Now, isn't that just precious? 

Mera said her five thousand years had gone in a blink. Of course they had, she lives in the Now just like everyone else, even Spike. "Now is when we live," Michael Greco had said - Michael who was not afraid to die, who had done all he wished to do and was happy just to 'go gentle.' 

But what if you weren't finished with living? Olivia wasn't finished with it, that much was obvious. She hated the thought of dying. What would _she_ say to Mera? Would she agonise about it, or just grab the chance with both hands and burst into tears? 

Oh yes, there's nothing like an offer of immortality to get you thinking….thinking too much. Vampires had it easy; all decided for them. Spike - William hadn't gone through this. One bite before he knew what was happening and it was Hello Spike, have a nice immortality. Lucky sod. 

Lucky? What in god's name was he thinking? Damn Mera! 

He realised he had his hand on the sundial and he looked at the bronze gnomon. There was no sun and the unicorn's horn couldn't tell Rupert anything - but he knew what time it was anyway. It was late, that's what it was. Bloody late. Almost too late. 

Just think, if you agreed to her offer you'd remain like this, in this late forties body for all time. What would _that_ be like? Well actually, thinking about it, it wouldn't be too bad. Late thirties would be better, but the forties weren't so terrible. Minimum aches and pains and Olivia liked the body. Down the endless years together, never changing, never weakening. Never getting ill - cancer; heart attack; brain tumour - stop. Stop, you moron. 

What if life became boring? What if it became so boring you felt it was time to go? You couldn't take the nicer way out and down a bottle of sleeping tablets. Wouldn't work. You'd have to stake yourself. Oh god, what a thought. Would it ever get boring? Mera wasn't bored. 

Those little aches and pains are going to get worse - stop. 

And when you did finally die, where would you go? Which one of the two aiches would you end up in? No - think about Buffy. No evil equals heaven. 

Buffy would have a fit just to hear about Mera's offer, but then Buffy was young and incredibly healthy and had never expected to live long anyway. She didn't plan to get lines on her pretty face and gritty noises in her joints. 

Come to think of it, the old knees clicked a bit. Shut up. 

Rupert ran his hand over the unicorn and sighed, looking around his wet garden. Then, once more: _Olivia was smiling_. Rupert gasped. _Spike leaned back on his elbows in the sun, talking lazily with Tara and Dawn._

"Oh my god." Rupert stood frozen. "_That's_ why he's in my fantasy." 

* 

The door to Spike's room stayed shut all day and not a sound came from inside. Rupert spent his time moving from room to room, unable to settle. He tried to read but his mind wandered. "Damn you, Mera!" he muttered over the frugal lunch he had put together and had no appetite for. "Damn you, damn you!" 

He stood by the phone for a long time while his mind raced, then quickly he picked it up and called Olivia. 

"No. _No_, Olivia - I'm coming over. I need to see you. I need to talk to you. Yes, it _is_ all upside-down here at the moment, but I'll come on whatever day you say. Now give me a date, Olivia." 

That evening Rupert felt completely exhausted and went up to bed early. He saw that Spike's bedroom door was open, and he looked in. 

The vampire was flat out on the bed, on his front with his face in the duvet and feet on the pillows. Raising his head, he caught Rupert's gaze and sat up. "Blimey. What's happened?" 

Rupert slumped against the door frame and rubbed his face wearily. "Nothing. I'm tired, that's all." 

Spike sighed. "Bollocks, Watcher. I told you before I'm not just pretty." He looked hard at Rupert's face. "What's got you in a whirl?" 

"I said it's - " 

It hit Spike suddenly. "_Oh_" he said in wonder, his eyes wide. "Bloody hell! She offered it, didn't she? You lucky _bastard_ - I never had a choice!" Rattled, Spike patted his pockets and fumbled a bent cigarette out of a crushed packet. Then he chuckled. "You look like shit, Rupes. Better get some sleep." Dropping the cigarette, Spike fell back onto the bed. He grabbed a pillow and slammed it over his face, holding it there with his arms as he began to groan. 

Rupert continued on to his own room. As he entered he heard another chuckle. "Good luck on the sleeping bit, Rupes." 

"Funny," muttered Rupert, and slammed the door. 

* 

"Frankly, I wasn't expecting to see you for a while." Mera looked curiously at Rupert. 

Rupert grimaced. "Yes, well I spent all day yesterday in a daze - cursing you, actually." 

She laughed. "I'm good at making people do that. What brings you over?" 

"I want to know if you've decided what to do about Spike." 

"Oh." Mera waved him to a seat. "I'm all for trying it, if we can find a way. I've thought about it and I'm going to talk to Path today and see what she thinks." 

"Do you really think it's possible?" 

"I see no reason why it shouldn't be. I just can't think how to do it. It's his demon, you see. I think it'll fight like the - ha! - like the devil if I try to turn Spike in his current condition. I'm going to have to get rid of it beforehand. Anyway, if he keeps it he'll still be a vampire." 

"But it's all that's keeping him alive, isn't it?" 

"Yes, at the moment." 

"If it did fight, would it win?" 

"The vamp demon has one of the strongest survival instincts in existence. It's full of the old Demon's determination, you see, even though it has no intelligence of it's own. It won't let go. It might even gain the upper hand again and Spike'll end up being what he was before. No, it needs to be killed." 

"God. What about the chip?" 

"Oh, I can get rid of that, no trouble," said Mera airily. "You know the faith-healers - those swine who pretend to remove tumours and suchlike without making incisions?" 

"Yes." 

Well, they have no idea that it's actually possible. If you know how, you can remove almost anything from a body. And I know how. It was my tribe's speciality." 

"Good god," Rupert gasped, his heart suddenly beating hard. "Could you - " 

"No. I said _almost_ anything. The cancer's all over her. I'd have to remove her blood." 

Rupert sank back, shaken. 

"I'm sorry, Rupert. There's only one thing I can do for her." 

"Yes. It's all right." He forced himself to relax. "You said you were going to talk to Path?" 

"Yes. You can listen in if you like." 

"What? How?" 

"Me how. Do you want to?" 

Rupert was suddenly intensely curious and at Mera's invitation he joined her on the sofa. 

"I haven't seen Path for several decades," Mera said. "But we talk often." 

"Decades!" 

"We think of time differently. A decade seems to go in a blink." 

"A blink? Then there isn't that much difference." Rupert looked sad for a moment. "But you know you'll see the sun set a hundred years from now." 

Mera tactfully didn't answer that. "Path thinks in words," she said. "She just can't say them very well. But she thinks very clearly." She raised a hand and paused. "If you wish to say anything to her, think precisely. Don't say 'don't'. Say 'do not'. Speak aloud if it helps. Understand?" 

He nodded. Mera placed her hand on his head and closed her eyes - and suddenly Rupert was drifting, isolated from the world. When he heard Mera speak it was as if she was talking from inside his bones. He shuddered. 

Mera: "Path?" 

Path: "Hello, Mera." 

Rupert's mind reeled under the force of the thought. Deep, strong and unstoppable, like - like a river of thick warm mud, or toffee. 

Mera: "Path, Rupert is here with us. I have asked him our question. He is considering." 

Path: "Welcome, Rupert." _primitive tattooed smiling face_. 

Rupert hadn't expected the visual. He found he was holding his breath. He had just met what was probably the oldest living creature on earth. 

Mera: "She is looking into a mirror, Rupert. Do you wish to say hello to her?" 

Rupert: "Oh, er, h-hello Path. I'm - um - I am happy to meet you at last." 

Path: _smiling, deep brown eyes creasing_. 

Mera: "I will tell her now what has occured with Spike. Path, William the Bloody has arrived here. I have spoken to him." 

Path: "What does he want?" 

Mera: "He wishes to know if it is possible to become one of us and if we would agree to it." 

Path: _eyes widening_ "This is unheard of." 

Mera: "Yes. Very unusual. I have heard his past story from Rupert, as William himself relayed it to the Slayer. I have doubts as to its truth." 

Rupert's brow creased and before he could stop himself he said: "You do?" 

Mera: "Wait, Rupert." 

Path: _thoughful frown_ "Why do you doubt?" 

Mera: "William is not the person he pretends to be. Deep, deep inside him lives someone else: the one he was before he was turned." 

Path: "Why does he pretend?" 

Mera: "This hidden person has no malice in him. William changed himself to appear more - dangerous. He may have done this in order to survive, given the family he was 'born' into. Or it may have been simply a reaction against the times in which he had been living. It may have been all these things." 

Path: _sad face_ "Who is he now?" 

Mera: "If we ignore his demon parasite, he is now an energetic, pleasant mixture of gentleness and violence, recklessness and care. With an acid tongue on him sometimes. He is also, without doubt, an empath. His talent was probably only latent during his human days and it may have mislead him somewhat. I imagine it was fully released and greatly reinforced when he was turned. It has allowed him to fall in love with the Slayer." 

Path: _wide eyes_ "He loves the Slayer?" 

Mera: "He is a man who, with his enhanced talent, will always be drawn to the most worthwhile women. Drusilla was a worthwhile woman before she was turned. I expect a remnant of this still lives deep under her madness and he has probably always sensed this. His demon is now controlled. William is in charge. He has rejected Drusilla and fallen in love with his enemy, a much worthier woman - sane, for a start, and strong, volcanic, with a deep well of feeling inside her. Perfect for him. She rejected him, of course, but he pursued her _nonetheless_. Even if I could not sense his empathic talent, this alone would be enough to inform me of it's presence. He knows the Slayer's innermost feelings." Rupert jumped and Mera tightened her grip on him. 

Path: "Do you believe we should attempt this?" 

Mera: "Yes. We must find a way. He would make a fine addition to our tiny family." 

Path: "How is his demon controlled?" 

Mera: "Ah. This was a happy accident. I will tell you his recent story as Rupert knows it." 

* 

When Mera took her hand from his head Rupert spoke immediately. "What did you mean about Spike knowing Buffy's innermost feelings?" 

"I'd have thought it was obvious. Think about it. Why would he pursue her with such determination if he knew that she truly couldn't stand him?" 

Rupert's mouth was open. "You're saying Buffy - oh, good god!" 

Why call on god? Come on Rupert, her human lovers have been disasters. She hasn't killed Spike but she has no hesitation about killing other vampires. The only other person she's been in love with is Angel." 

"But - " 

"No. There's no 'but'. She's connected to them, you know that. Why do you think the Council works so hard to make Slayers into virtual machines? Kendra - lord, I felt sorry for that girl. Talk about indoctrination. _And_ segregation. I don't know what the Council does or doesn't remember but they know that Slayers and vamps must remain strictly separate. There was a terrible accident once, back when the Council was young. I don't know all the details - Path doesn't like to speak of it, it upsets her. Basically, I think a Slayer let a vampire try to turn her. I'm not sure, but I think it was someone she knew before he was turned, someone she was in love with and of course the human part of him still loved her. From what I gather, the Source went berserk and I would not have liked to have seen that. The Council took steps to try and make sure it never happened again and their methods were successful for a long time. But this world we live in now - it's impossible to keep Slayers down. Unless they're virtually kept in purdah, they _will_ meet people and they _will_ fall in love. Or indulge their bad tendencies. Given a chance, Slayers will always be attracted to the most unusual vamps, like moths to a candle. It's like a fascination. They're from the same mould." 

"Are you attracted to vampires?" 

"In a way, but I never get emotional apart from feeling sorry for the poor buggers. A Slayer always has huge appetites, you know that, and the nature of their work - it would never succeed with an ordinary human. It never has. Face it, the best mate for a Slayer is a vampire who has overcome his demon. Enter Spike, who has been around Buffy for a long time and has shown her - and you - his true self. And what a fine self it is too. Plus, there's chemistry. Put it all together and what do you get? Of course, it doesn't happen often - apart from the one time I've mentioned, I think Buffy and Angel were the only other occurrance. But Buffy is in a spectacularly unusual position; she's never been indoctrinated with the agreed rules and she was on her own for a while before you came along. She slipped past the Council's net. They can't catch every potential Slayer, they've missed some before now but they always catch up with them and train them. Buffy - I don't know, you'll have to ask Quentin why they left her out there and didn't bring her in. I'm sure it was deliberate, perhaps an experiment concerning her family and friends and it looks like they did the same with Faith which, I'm sure I don't have to tell you, was a huge mistake. Now, there's a girl who needed proper care." 

"Whatever their plan was, it worked with Buffy and failed with Faith. I hope to god they're more careful next time. Maybe, having done it the same way for thousands of years, they're trying something else now - pehaps a situation where the Slayer forges her own 'mini council', people who help her in the fight and who are free to make their own decisions. Because that's what your Buffy has done; made her own mini council, and the Watchers have let this happen." 

Rupert sat quiet, remembering Quentin's testing of Buffy's friends. 

"Sorry," said Mera. "I got a little off-track there. The point is, Buffy is in a unique position as a Slayer - she's _bound_ to break the rules and think her own thoughts. And so we come full-circle back to Spike and his empathy." 

Rupert shook his head. "I'm never going to remember all this. I should tape every conversation I have with you." 

"I can go over it again as many times as you like." 

"You'll have to. There's something else - you mentioned a parasite, Spike's parasite. Is that what you have?" Rupert hesitated. "What are you, Mera?" 

"Don't know. Human, I suppose." 

"Human? But - you aren't. Are you? You can't be." 

"Excuse me, I was born of human parents. I think I'm qualified." 

"Yes, but you've been changed haven't you?" 

"No, I'm exactly the person I would be if I'd lived this long anyway. If you're trying to compare me to vampires, stop now. I'm immortal, yes. Extra-human strength, yes. But I do have a heartbeat, did you know that? I'm not dead. Path definitely had the best deal. Listen - " 

She sat forward, concentrating. "Symbiont. That's the most fitting way to describe it. Vampires - well, they have a parasite. Living only for itself, it latches on to a nearly dead body and uses it. It takes them over. It may only be an instinct, but it's a very strong one - one that's impossible to resist. Until one of them is given the means to resist, that is. It rules their lives, ruins their lives in the true way of a parasite." 

"Now me, I have a symbiont. You can call it a demon as much as you like but it hasn't taken the sun away from me and it doesn't make me do what I ordinarily wouldn't. I still have my soul, whatever the hell that is - I mention it merely because you Watchers seem to place so much importance on it. Whatever I decide to do, good or evil, is down soley to me, nothing else. _I take the blame_. It hasn't ruined my life - it has enriched it. Symbionts benefit the guest _and_ the host and what I have might as well be called symbiotic because there's no other word that fits." She sat back. "I'm happy with the way I am. That's more than most of the world can say." 

"This is why you have sympathy for them, isn't it? For vampires?" 

"For the poor things trapped inside, yes. Like the First, they hardly ever have a choice, they don't know what's going to happen and _it isn't their fault_." 

"But while the demon is in control - " 

"Yes. We have no choice but to kill them." 

"All right. Parasites and symbionts. So what does Buffy have?" 

"Think about it. Has it taken over her life? Did she have any choice? Has it made it virtually impossible for her to function as a normal human being? Does it use her? I know what the answers are. Her part is an aspect like mine but it also functions as a parasite. It uses her because the Source has _chosen_ to foist this thing upon her. And you know I'm right." 

"I've never thought of it that way. It's incredible." 

"Like I said before - it's a bloody tragedy. From start to finish."   
  
  



	9. Limbo.

Chapter Nine

  


Limbo.

February 23 

Rupert hefted a bag and set it down by the front door. "I'll be back tomorrow, probably late afternoon. Give Mera a call, I'm sure she'd like to talk to you. Invite her over. Her number's in the pad by the phone." 

Spike looked a little nonplussed and Rupert studied him. "You haven't done anything social like that for a long time, have you?" 

Spike thrust out his chin. "What, you think I don't know how to socialise? Shove it, Watcher. Go visit your lady-friend." 

"Just don't drink everything." Rupert put on his coat and picked up his bag. "And clear up after yourself." 

"Yeah. See ya." Spike shut the door and walked into the lounge. He went to the window and craned his neck to watch Rupert's car go down the drive and turn out of the gates, then he stood for a while in front of the book-case, looking at the titles with a profound lack of interest. Eventually, with a sigh, he opened the drinks cabinet and took out a beer. 

"Ah, sod it!" He turned and dropped onto the sofa, closing his eyes. 

He had his second beer in the kitchen, standing in front of the open larder and trying to get enthusiastic over the contents. His third and fourth beer he had while up to his neck in hot water and bubbles in Rupert's elegant bathroom. Then, for the hell of it, he had his fifth beer in the shower while he experimented with shampoo and a bottle of orange-scented bath oil that Olivia had left behind. By six o'clock that evening there were empty cans and bottles in almost every room of Rupert's house and Spike was steaming. He stood gently swaying by the phone, reeking of oranges and holding the number pad at arm's length, trying to focus on it. After several wrong numbers he heard Mera's voice. 

"Hello." 

"Mrra. Thehhh...ssWllm." 

"Spike?" 

"Eh! Pphhhh. Psst." 

"Well, come over here and I'll sober you up." 

"Doh wnnn ssbrr'p" 

"Have you lost all your vowels? All right, come over here and stay drunk then." 

"Ri." Spike dropped the receiver on the floor and, after a brief skirmish with the door, lurched out of the house into pouring rain. He met a few trees on his way down to Mera's cottage and managed to have a brief but strangely painful encounter with the only lamp-post in the village, to which he apologised. Mera's small garden gate gave him some problems, so he hung on it until the latch gave way and then he wobbled up the path to collide with her door. 

Mera had a good view of the road from her staircase window and had watched this entertaining episode with interest. When she heard him hit the door, she opened it and looked at the sodden, scratched vampire swaying in the wind and peering myopically at her with his mouth open. She laughed. "Oh, for Christ's sake." She grabbed him by the collar and pulled. "Get inside." 

Spike landed in a heap in her hallway and passed out. 

* 

While Spike was getting drunk, Rupert was talking to Olivia in her London home. She suggested they to go out to a pub but Rupert wasn't having any of that. He was there to talk and that was what he was going to do. 

"I know what you're doing, Olivia. You want to keep us apart. That's all very well, but people in bad situations need someone to talk to - someone they trust." 

Olivia looked worried. "Are you in a bad situation?" 

"No, you are," he replied bluntly. "I'm merely in a confusing one. A painful one." 

"I'm sorry." She took his hand. "It's just I - I don't have long and the more time you spend with me the worse it'll - " 

"I know. That's not what's confusing me." 

"Is it Mera?" 

"It's something Mera said, and I just can't let it go without telling you." Rupert hesitated. "You _have_ to have the choice." 

"Choice about what?" 

"Oh, god. I've told you about Mera, about what she is. I've told you about Path and how it all began. Spike and his question - I've told you everything about it, uncensored. Now I'm glad I did." 

"Why?" 

He threw up his hands. "Just come right out with it, Rupert," he told himself. "Path and Mera, what they have, what they are - they've offered it to you and me." 

Olivia blinked. Then she frowned and shook her head. "I'm sorry, what?" 

"They want us to join their family. I'm not saying I've accepted. I just think you should know the option is there." 

Olivia's thin face went blank. "Oh." She looked down at her hands and felt a slow anger building. "I've only just got used to the thought of dying." Rupert watched her closely. "Oh my god." She stood up and looked around. "Oh my god." 

"Olivia - " 

"No." She held up a shaking hand. "No, just - stay here. I'm going to go upstairs, all right?" 

He watched her go to the door. She wobbled a little as she went through and closed it quietly behind her, and Rupert shut his eyes and let his head fall back. Well, he'd told her. This was what he had come here for, to let her know that death wasn't her only option. His body went limp with relief and within a few seconds he was asleep.   
  
  


* 

February 24. 2 a.m. 

"Well? Feeling better?" Mera led Spike into the kitchen. 

"No. Oh, shit. What hit me?" 

"You did. Coffee?" 

"Yeah. What's the time?" Moving like an old man, Spike fumbled his way into a chair. 

"Gone two. By the way, you left Rupert's door open and all his lights on." 

"Oh, crap." 

"I took care of it. Here you go, get it down you." Mera handed Spike a steaming cup. He held it in shaking hands and sipped it carefully. Mera regarded him seriously. "So what brought on the melt-down?" 

"Dunno. Too much thinking, I suppose. Limbo ain't a nice place to be in." Spike cringed and put a hand to his head. "God, I think I drank everything." 

"Well, as long as you didn't drink what was under the sink you should be all right. What were you thinking about?" 

"Everything. Circles. Just went round and round." Spike closed his eyes. "A couple days ago Giles told me about your offer. Well, he didn't _tell_ me - I worked it out. And I got angry." 

"Why?" 

"Fucking Drusilla - I never had a _choice!_" Spike shouted and winced again. "I'm gonna go back and go to bed. Got any aspirin?" 

* Olivia stood at the lounge window and looked out at the night. "I think I went through every emotion there is. I still don't know what to think." 

"There isn't a time-limit, you know, not on this. No-one's pushing for an answer." 

"Just as well. God, is it really past three? I haven't slept at all." 

Rupert put his arms around her. "Want to go to bed?" 

"I won't sleep." She turned and put her head on his shoulder. "I hated you for a while, you know." 

"I expect so." 

"It's because of you I believe there's something beyond death. I'd given in." She shook her head. "You get into one mind-set, all acceptance and calm, then you get turned upside-down. It was   
violent." 

Rupert said nothing and Olivia looked up at him. "What do _you_ think about it?" she asked. 

"I've tried not to," he said with a harsh laugh. "And you know what happens when you try that, don't you?" 

"Yes. Don't think about a pink elephant." 

"Clear your mind and think of nothing." 

Olivia laughed. "You end up thinking about clearing your mind." She left his arms and sat down. "So. What have you thought?" 

"Oh god." Rupert sat on the floor next to her. "Everything. You, Michael, my age. Spike. Time. You name it." 

"Poor Rupert. I think it's easier for me. Die soon or not at all. Simple yes or no." 

"I hate the thought of growing physically useless." 

"Yes." 

"I've changed a lot in the last five or six years. Before I became Buffy's official Watcher I would have rejected Mera instantly." 

"That's probably why she didn't approach you before." 

"Oh, definitely." 

Olivia leaned forward. "If she was a proper vampire would you have told me?" 

"If she was a proper vampire we wouldn't have a choice and I'd already be turned. But no, I wouldn't have told you." 

"So you trust her?" 

"Yes." 

"With this?" 

"Oh, god. Yes, with this. Real trust doesn't have limits. You either trust someone or you don't. You have to chance it." 

"Does Spike know?" 

"Yes. Him and his bloody empathy - I didn't have to say a word." Rupert shook his head. "He's sharp, that one. As Mera said - 'pesky'." 

"Rupert," Olivia said seriously. "Now that you've told me will you promise me something?" He nodded. "Will you not mention this again? Not tonight, not tomorrow. Not until I do?" 

"Yes." 

"And I want you not to call me, or see me. I want to be left completely alone with this. I'll contact you when I have an answer." 

Rupert reached up and squeezed her hand. "I promise." 

* 

The huge marble clock on the mantlepiece in Mera's lounge ticked loudly, whittling away at the afternoon. Mera sat unmoving with her eyes closed and her hands folded neatly in her lap as she conferred once again with Path on what she called The Spike Problem. They were into their third hour now and Mera's brow was furrowed. 

The clock ticked. 

Suddenly Mera shifted and spoke aloud. "Oh, good god! Of course!" 

Tick. 

"I do not know the recipe, you will have to tell me." 

Tick. 

"If it does not work, he will be gone forever." 

Tick. 

"Oh, do not worry. You need to see this boy, Path. Believe me, I will make sure it goes _everywhere_" 

Tick. 

"I am nothing of the kind!" 

Laughing, Mera broke the connection. 

* 

Moving carefully, Spike emerged from his bedroom and headed for the shower. His foot caught a beer can and sent it rolling down the passage, leaving a long dribble of liquid behind it. 

"Oh, sod!" 

He looked at a crumpled towel on the floor outside Rupert's bedroom and ran back into his room to look at the clock. 

"Bugger!" 

Forgetting his shower, Spike embarked on an energetic clean-up operation that made his head thump and took him to every room in Rupert's house. He flung open each window he came to and the temperature plummeted. He was on his knees in the kitchen scrubbing at a congealed puddle of spilled beer and dog-ends when the phone rang. 

"Shit!" he yelled into the receiver. "_What_?" 

"Yes, and a good afternoon to you too, Spike. How's your head?" 

"Sorry Mera. Listen, I'm in the middle of cleaning up. If Giles comes back now he'll stake me." 

"Yes, I saw the mess last night. It was impressive. You do like to do things properly, don't you?" 

"Mera - " 

"All right. Path and I talked this morning and we think we've thrashed out a way to do what you   
want." 

Spike's stomach turned over. "Er. Yeah?" 

"Yes. When's Rupert due back?" 

"Any time." 

"Well, tell him you two are to come over here tonight and we'll talk about it." 

"Okay, I'll tell him. See you." Shaking slightly, Spike put the receiver down. He rubbed his face hard and went back into the kitchen. 

* 

"Tell me why it's below 16 degrees in here and smells of oranges." 

"Oh, I, er - yeah, I just gave it a blow-through." Spike serruptitiously touched a spot on his t-shirt where a large splash of bath oil had hit it. "You know. I had a fag last night." 

"You only had one? You astonish me." Rupert dropped his bag and coat on a chair and went into the kitchen. He looked around and frowned. "Oranges in here, too." 

Spike followed him. "Yeah. Look, Mera says she wants us to come over tonight. Says her and Path think they know what to do about me." 

"I don't suppose that would involve a stake? Sorry." Rupert shook his head as his guest sighed. "I've had a tense twenty-four hours and I need a nap. Give her a ring, would you, and tell her we'll be there about six?" 

Spike nodded and left the kitchen. Rupert made himself some tea and wished he could uncover the window and let the sun in. He turned up the heating thermostat and sat down, closing his eyes. 

Spike returned and put some letters on the table. "These came this morning." He dropped into a chair and drummed his fingers on the table top. 

Rupert glanced at him. "What's the matter with you?" 

"Oh, charming. You're not the only one who's had a tense day, you know. I don't know what's going to happen to me." 

"Oh, I wouldn't worry if I were you." 

"If you were me? How the hell would you know what I'd think if you were - if I was - you're not me. So you don't know." 

"Look, it's going to work. Whatever Mera does, it'll work." 

"Oh, _right_ Mr. Clairvoyant. That makes me feel so much better. How the sod would you know?" 

Rupert smiled slightly. "I just know. Stop being so - negative."   
  
  



	10. Decisions.

Chapter Ten

  


Decisions

"There are no end of spells for getting rid of ghosts and ghoulies," said Mera that evening. "Some of 'em actually work, too. But as far as we know, there's only one reliable spell for the ridding of a vampire's demon." 

"Yeah? Let's do it, then." Spike was feeling reckless. 

"Stamp on the brakes, mister," Mera said sharply. "It'd be the same as if I'd staked you. What we have to do is kill your demon and make sure _you_ don't go splat in the process. Tricky." She smiled. "We have to keep that cute body of yours intact. But I think we have that covered." 

"You think?" Spike looked wary. 

"We can't be sure of anything, dear," said Mera. "This has never been done before. You're a lab rat." 

"Oh, great." 

"Remember what I said, Spike," said Rupert. 

Mera came alert. "What was that?" 

"Oh, the Watcher thinks he's clairvoyant," said Spike. "Keeps telling me it's going to work." 

"Really?" Mera shot a curious look at Rupert. "Well, there's no harm in positive thinking." 

"So how are you going to keep him intact?" asked Rupert. 

"Hopefully with something Path remembered this morning. There's an ancient mixture of herbs and minerals that's quite normal on its own, but when you say the right spells it becomes something completely different. It's called the Balm, it preserves the body and you won't have heard of it. The sequence we propose is this - I use the Balm on you, then I do the spell for getting rid of your demon, then I turn you. Simple. Nothing to it." 

Spike looked at her hopefully. "Yeah?" 

"No love, I'm being facetious. There's nothing simple about this. Listen, the story behind the Balm is quite bloody but all you need to know right now is that it might - I repeat _might_ keep your body from going poof so that I can turn you. And once you're turned the 'spirit' that's keeping me going should do the same for you." 

"I heard several 'shoulds' and 'mights' just then," said Rupert. 

"Well, the Balm has only ever been used on humans so I don't know if it'll work for Spike. The only good thing is it's easy to make - most of the herbs haven't changed over the years and you'll find them in just about any bloody kitchen in the world. There was only one item I needed a modern equivalent for, and that was easy - the damn thing's growing in the garden. Agh." She screwed up her face. "It's so easy to put together it makes me shudder to think how any moron could stumble onto it. I have a batch brewing right now, very hubbly bubbly. Can you smell it?" 

"Something smells sweet, yes," said Rupert. "Ah, preserve the body? That sounds very Ancient   
Egyptian." 

"You're not far wrong - " 

"What?" yelped Spike. "I'm not being a sodding mummy!" 

"Let me finish," said Mera. "The true nature of the Balm has been forgotten for millennia and it took Path some time to remember about it - she's looking through her writings right now to find the spells. But don't worry, the Egyptian mummification practices were shadows of the real thing. This mixture will either save you or fail completely, but it won't turn you into a mummy." 

"Jesus." Spike laughed weakly. "Had a picture just then of me walking around like Karloff. Nasty. So when can we use this Balm?" 

"It should be ready in a few hours, after it's cooled down." Mera smiled. "Don't want to raise blisters on that alabaster skin of yours do we, gorgeous?" 

Spike gave her a sick smile. 

"Spike - go away and think about it," said Mera. "Think hard. There's a high chance you won't survive. Come back tomorrow if you like, or next week. No rush - I can stick the Balm in the freezer." 

She looked at Rupert. "Would you stay behind for a moment?" 

With his mind buzzing, Spike said goodbye and left. 

Mera turned to Rupert. "Why are you so sure it's going to work when you didn't know until now what we were going to do? When even _I_ didn't know until this morning what we were going to do?" 

"Ah," said Rupert. "Well, I-I had a daydream when I came back from the U.S. About a-a garden. A sunny garden. It was very realistic." 

"You mean you had a vision." 

"Well - " 

"How realistic was it?" 

He hesitated. "I-I saw the same garden a few weeks later." 

"Let me guess - the one you now own?" She looked at him thoughfully. "And you're judging everything on the strength of this - vision-garden?" 

"What else can I use as a measure?" Rupert felt embarrassed. "It's all I have to go on." 

"Quite." Mera pursed her lips. "Now, being very good at putting two and two together, I assume Spike was in your vision, yes? So tell me, Rupert - was Olivia there too?" 

"Leave it there, Mera," said Rupert. 

"All right. Just don't go into overdrive my friend. Visions can't be entirely trusted." 

"I know." 

* 

At two o'clock the following morning Rupert was staring bleary-eyed at his computer screen and thinking about going to bed when Spike put his head around the door of the study. 

"Can I use your 'phone, Giles? I want to call Buffy, if that's okay." 

Rupert looked up from his ever-lengthening report. "Oh, yes certainly. But I have e-mail, you know." 

"Yeah, but I want to talk to her." 

"All right." 

Spike felt inexplicably nervous as he dialed Buffy's number. In Sunnydale the phone rang for a long time and he felt a stab of disappointment. Then he heard a click. 

"Hello?" 

He felt his shoulders tense up. "Hi, Buffy." 

"Spike?" 

"Yeah. Um - how are you?" 

"I'm fine, thanks. Wow, I didn't expect you to call - Dawn! It's Spike! - so what's going on?" 

"Did Giles tell you about my question?" 

"Yeah, he did. Is she gonna do it?" 

"She thinks there's a way, yeah." 

"Really? Again, wow. Well, good luck on that. I mean it" 

"Thanks." 

"Uh, will it be dangerous?" 

"Nah. Piece of cake." 

"Good. Look, here's Dawn. Let us know what happens, okay? And - and don't rush into it." 

"Yeah. 'Bye, Buffy." 

He heard a muffled conversation at the other end, then: "Hi Spike!" 

"Hi mega-bite." 

"How's you?" 

"I'm fine, love. Anything happening?" He dropped his voice to a growl. "How's your boyfriend?" 

"I've got another one now. His name's Mark." 

Spike blinked. "Not wasting any time, are you?" 

She laughed. "I have to get them in before you come back, don't I? Mr. Prison-guard." 

"I wasn't that bad, was I?" Spike felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Rupert standing there. 

"No, you weren't that bad. Not really." 

"Good to hear it - listen, Giles wants a word so I'll hand you over. Take care." 

"'Kay. Bye Spike." 

Spike gave Rupert the receiver and went into the kitchen. He stood for a moment in the dark and listened to Rupert talking, then quietly opened the back door and went out into the night. 

* 

"I had a feeling you were on your way." Mera led Spike into her lounge and sat him down. She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. "Speak." 

Spike hesitated. "This plan you've got for me," he said at last. "Map it out again." 

Mera spoke slowly. "One: I do the Balm on you to stop you from turning to dust when your demon dies. Two: I do the spell for getting rid of said demon. Three: I turn you." 

Spike drew a deep breath. "When you turn me I - no evil demon, yeah? I want to hear you say it." 

"If it works, you will be able to walk in the sun." 

"Yeah, but what I'm _interested_ in is - you have no evil demon?" 

"Ah, I see. That's right. No evil, no demon. Note this gold cross on my chest." 

"You don't drink blood." 

"There's a fridge in the kitchen. Have a look inside and see all the calorie-full yummy goodies. You know all this." 

"I haven't heard it from _you_. Sunlight?" 

"Appreciate at my golden tan." 

"Show me your fangs." 

"Pardon?" 

"Your face. I want to see it." 

Mera let her face change and Spike stood up and spent some moments studying her. 

"It's different to ours," he said. 

"Yes, it's very slightly softer. Rupert didn't pick that up. Well done." 

"Your eyes aren't so yellow." 

"You're right." 

"They're more of a - bronze. Gold bronze." 

"Yup. That they are. They're the only things I like about it." 

He ran his hands over her face and touched her fangs. "They're not so sharp." 

"No, our bite is blunt. Good thing we don't need to use it. I don't have to bite you, you know. I plan to use a knife." 

Spike sat back down and watched her human face return. "But you don't know if it'll work." 

"No. No vamp has ever wanted it before. The reasons are obvious." 

Spike was silent for a while. Then he looked away and said something he'd never before admitted. "Before I was turned I was a wimp." 

Mera waved a hand impatiently. "Wimp is a word used by the ungentle young to describe the gentle young." 

"Er - " 

"All right. Not quite like that, but you know what I mean. Intellect, gentleness, a quiet demeanour - all serious crimes when growing up. In the adult world these traits are valued by those who are thoughtful. Don't use that word to describe yourself." She sat beside him. "I know what you were, it's still there inside you although it's been tempered through the years. I will say this, though - in rebelling against the people who hurt you, you nearly turned yourself into one of them, do you know that? Arrogant, snarky, cocksure, acid. I say _nearly_. You kept your capacity for love and warmth, even under the demon. That's more than any of them would have achieved. Be proud of yourself - of who you were before, and who you are now." Suddenly she smiled and prodded his shoulder. "Aha! I understand! No, no - don't be afraid that without your demon you'll turn into a big twit. You've been out from under its influence for some time now. Are you a twit?" 

"Not bloody likely." 

"Well, there you go then. Now tell me, what brought you here so quickly?" 

"I spoke to Buffy." 

"Ah. So you would risk death for her?" 

"Already have." 

"Yes, but there's no escape from this one, sonny. No small chance of rescue to hope for. It goes wrong, you're dead." 

Spike stood up again. "Yeah, well. It's my demon. I want it gone." 

Mera didn't hesitate. "Come this way, then." 

Spike followed her down a dark passage and entered a small undecorated room. High on the wall one tiny window showed a faint patch of stars. There were two large brown jars and a sheet of plastic on the concrete floor. 

Spike turned to her. "You knew I'd go for it, didn't you? You've got it ready." 

"I had a hunch." Mera drew a rough chalk circle on the floor. "Now listen. This first part with the Balm is going to take hours and I'm going to keep on asking this question until I start the final spell."   
She looked into his eyes. "Are you sure?" 

"Yes." 

Mera nodded and pointed to the plastic sheet. "Then strip and stand on that." 

Spike's mouth fell open and Mera sighed. "Oh, please," she said in exasperation. "I'm five thousand years old. You've no idea how many naked male bodies I've seen." She smiled. "Mind you, I've never got tired of seeing 'em." 

His mouth still open, Spike slowly took off his coat. 

"Besides," continued Mera. "I need you raw so that I can take _this_ - " she took the lid off one of the jars, scooped out a handful of warm Balm and turned to him with a very wide grin. "And rub it all over you." 

Spike clenched his teeth together, fighting a sudden strong urge to bite her. 

Mera drew herself up and pointed an imperious finger at him. "Now make my century and get your kit off." 

* 

6.30. 

Cursing himself for going having had so little sleep, Rupert ate his breakfast and wondered about Spike. The vampire had disappeared so abruptly after his conversation with Buffy that Rupert had felt compelled to listen at Spike's bedroom door before he went to bed, but he'd heard nothing. Now, drinking his coffee, he considered going up and asking his guest if he was going to have breakfast this morning. 

Rupert put his cup down with a jolt. "Good grief," he said aloud. "I'm going soft." 

He cleared the kitchen and went upstairs to get dressed. There was still no sound from Spike's   
room. 

Right, leave it then. Time to get to work anyway. 

* 

Spike stood naked on the plastic sheet and shivered in disgust. Covered now from hair to toes in sweet-smelling blue gunge, he looked thoughtfully at the ceiling and spoke in a far-away voice. "That had to be the longest, most humiliating thing I've ever allowed anyone to do to me." 

Grinning, Mera wiped her hands on a cloth. "Oh, don't be such a nancy. I had to make sure, didn't I? This is what'll keep your body intact." Her grin grew wider. "Be disastrous if we missed a spot, wouldn't it?" 

Spike glared at her. "Lady, you are a pervert." 

"No. I just like getting my hands on fine art - and you, my lad, are some of the finest I've ever seen. Michaelangelo would have burst into tears of joy." She laughed and pointed. "Especially over that bit." 

"Oh, _what_? Sod off!" 

"Now, now." Mera laughed again and threw the cloth out of the room. 

Suddenly, like a mask dropping, her face grew coldly serious and Spike swallowed, unnerved at the abrupt change. 

"The Balm's done, for good or ill," said Mera. "Now we kill your demon." She pointed to the chalk circle. "Sit there." 

Spike felt cold. He stepped slowly into the circle and sat down, eyeing her warily. "Is this going to be bad?" 

"I imagine so. Well, love. We've arrived at your last chance. Once this starts there's no stopping it." 

Spike looked into her eyes. "I'm not living like this any more. Do it." 

Mera picked up his clothes and the two empty jars and put them in the passage. "Don't want you smashing things and cutting yourself." She looked up at the little window and saw pale sky. "Sun's coming up." 

Spike raised his eyes to the window and fixed them there as Mera began to walk slowly around the edge of the circle, moving her lips soundlessly. Quickly the room grew stuffy and dark as if a cloth had been put over the window, and she took a torch from a pocket and switched it on. As she walked she kept the beam of light trained on Spike, who had begun to tremble violently, his hands clenching. 

Mera's silent pacing continued until abruptly she spoke aloud, giving voice to a harsh, unrecognisable language. Spike jerked his head back, his eyes opening wide. Like a puppet on strings, his body flung itself forward as if something inside wanted to get out of the circle, but without breaking stride Mera shot out an arm and pushed him back hard. As he landed on his back his face changed and he glared at her with yellow eyes, his mouth yawning wide, displaying his fangs as he gave out with a rising growl. Mera's relentless voice filled the tiny room, and again the demon hurled it's host at the circular barrier, seeking a weakness, yowling like a dog in pain. Mera's words became a song and her voice grew louder. Spike's face changed again and blue human eyes stared at Mera in panic, streaming tears. 

"Oh my god!" he yelled as his body convulsed. 

Mera ended the song on a shout, and Spike screamed. 

* 

"Spike's not at my house," said Rupert to Mera that afternoon. "He must have left last night. Is he here?" 

"Yes. He came over about two this morning and told me he wanted to do it. His mind was made up." 

Rupert was startled. "He never said anything to me!" 

"He probably knew you'd tell him to think a bit longer. So he pre-empted you." 

"Are you going to do it?" 

"Already have. We did the Balm - which took forever and was a lot of fun - and now, well, he's going through hell." 

"What!" Rupert was suddenly angry. "You're _doing_ it? You should have told me!" 

"Why? It's his decision, not yours." 

"We should have discussed it further!" 

"Oh?" Mera's eyes were sly. "And there was me thinking you were certain it was going to work." 

Rupert opened his mouth and stopped. "Well yes," he said eventually. "But as you said, visions aren't - " 

"You're not having it both ways," she said firmly. "I won't let you." 

Rupert gave up. "All right. Where is he?" 

Mera took him down the passage and showed him the door of the room. Rupert reached for the latch but she knocked his hand aside. 

"Wait." She put her ear to the door for a moment and carefully opened it. 

A murky darkness seemed to crawl out of the opening. Mera looked cautiously into the room and stepped inside, motioning Rupert to follow. She pointed. 

Seeming to glimmer in the strange darkness, Spike lay in a corner of the tiny room as if something had flung him there. With his face to the wall and an arm caught awkwardly under his body, he resembled a discarded doll. The chalk circle was smudged and the plastic sheet was in shreds. 

Rupert stepped closer and gasped. "He's blue!" 

"No." Mera's voice was hushed. "That's the Balm. I imagine under all that he's actually grey. Come back to the door." 

"Shouldn't he be in the circle?" 

"Doesn't matter. Spell's done. Come _back_ to the door." 

Spike's head twitched and Mera jumped forward and grabbed Rupert's arm. "Out," she ordered. 

She had barely closed the door behind them when they heard a faint thump and the latch rattled. 

"He can't get out, there's a caging spell holding him." She jerked her thumb at the door. "Listen." 

Rupert put his ear against the wood and his face went slack. "God!" He stepped back quickly. "What on earth's that?" 

"That," said Mera. "Is his demon expressing its displeasure at my attempt to murder it. The room's spell-soundproofed so it won't disturb the neighbours. The door's the only place the noise can come through." 

Rupert stared at the door. "You mean his demon's in control? How long is he going to be like that?" 

"No idea." 

"You don't _know_?" 

"You know I've never done this before!" snapped Mera suddenly, her voice becoming a growl on the last word. 

Rupert glanced at her and saw a different set of features fading from her face. A shock of fright went through him and he backed up against the door. Instantly, there was a dull thud from the other side and he jerked away from it, his skin crawling. "Bloody hell!" 

"Sorry." Mera ran trembling fingers over her forehead. "I'm sorry, Rupert. I didn't mean for that to happen. It's just that we have here the only vamp who's ever wanted to be free of his demon - do you have any idea what a prize that is? And we could lose him - I've known that from the start, but I couldn't refuse him. I just couldn't, and now it's done. It's making me a little tense." 

"A little?" Rupert laughed weakly. 

"All right, I admit - it takes a lot to make the fangs come through. I'm really nervous." Mera walked back down the passage. "I need a drink. You coming?"   
  
  



	11. The Council.

Chapter Eleven

  


The Council.

Rupert drank his first whiskey fast and held out his glass for a refill. "Tell me about the Balm," he said. "What is it exactly?" 

"As far as Spike's concerned," said Mera. "Think of it as a kind of glue to stop him falling apart. You won't be far wrong. But as to what it really is - well, it's very old for a start. Some bright spark developed it way back, long before my time. I got the story from Path - she watched it happen " 

"Where? In Britain?" 

"No, it was somewhere near Egypt. The location doesn't matter, though. The Balm was developed, used, abused, suppressed." 

"Why suppressed?" 

"Oh my. It was dynamite. It was used first for preserving the dead - which it does very well, by the way - then someone wondered what would happen if it was used on the living. They tried it and found the results quite amazing. In a nutshell, it makes you invulnerable. It preserves the body completely. Nothing can happen to it. Disease just stops. You can't be cut, you don't age, you can't be poisoned. It's as if it armour plates you, or puts you in stasis. Temporarily, that is." 

"So you're hoping this Balm will put Spike's body in, ah - stasis?" 

"That's the plan. Oh god." She rubbed her eyes. "I don't need this tension." 

Rupert wasn't going to let her get back into that. "You said it's temporary?" 

"This is the one good thing about it. The process has to be repeated every few years or the effects wear off and your body becomes vulnerable again." She sighed. "As for its use and abuse, use your imagination. The rulers took it for themselves - which, by the way, is exactly what would happen today if it ever got out. Take the old sum of limitless power plus towering arrogance and multiply it by the belief that you truly are invulnerable and what do you get? A bloody awful regime, that's what you get. It was all very violent in the end." 

"So there was a fight and the Balm disappeared?" 

"More or less. It was much more complicated than I've made it sound. I know Path had something to do with its disappearance, mainly because she's quite cagey about this part of the story. Until yesterday she was the only one in the world who knew the recipe." 

Rupert frowned. "What makes you so sure no-one else knows about it?" 

"I think we'd know by now, don't you?" 

Rupert sipped his drink thoughtfully. "You said the effects wear off. Are you going to have to repeat the process with Spike?" 

Mera looked tragic. "Unfortunately no," she said with exaggerated wistfulness. "He won't need the Balm once I've turned him. I'm doing a lot of hoping, by the way." 

"But why does he have to be turned at all? Surely the Balm on it's own would give him what he wants. He could go in the sun and it wouldn't kill him." 

"Oh, I'm sorry Rupert," Mera said sarcastically. "I had no idea you'd gone deaf last night. Didn't you pay attention? Immunity to sunlight is _not_ his main objective. He wants his demon gone - I wouldn't do anything like this for him otherwise. As for why he needs to be turned, well, when the demon goes away it'll take with it all the things it's given him. He won't be a vampire any more, not inside, and psychically he'll be very vulnerable. I couldn't let him go wandering around like that, he wouldn't last a week. I _have_ to give him what I have." 

"I see. Isn't the Balm rubbing off with all that jumping about he's doing? 

"Doesn't matter. If the catalyst spells have done their work I could hose him down and it wouldn't make any difference. Oooh." She gave a delighted smile. "Now _there's_ a picture that'll keep me going for a few years." 

Rupert tutted and shook his head. "When this is over, what will he be?" 

"Himself, hopefully." 

"But with no evil inside him." 

"That's right, although like me he'll still be able to display the dental cutlery if he wants to. He just won't want to, that's all. As I see it, he'll have a vampire's body without the demonic perks." 

"He'll have your perks instead." 

"Yes. The only thing that'll have changed is the internal agent that keeps him alive. He'll still be soulless, for whatever that's worth. As he is now is how he'll stay. And his darling, narky, extra-cool personality - he'll still have that." 

"Which is a good thing, I suppose." 

Mera laughed. "I think so." 

"Is there any point in asking what the Balm's made of?" asked Rupert with a smile. 

"No. There ain't." She smiled back at him 

"Don't you trust me?" 

"I trust you to write it all down neatly in a little book, Rupert," she said bluntly. "And I trust someone, sometime in the future, to get their hands on that book." She shook her head. "The human race has enough nasty little toys to play with as it is - and gosh, they _do_ like to play with them don't they? The last thing they need is an easy way to make themselves invulnerable. Anyway, Path'd kill me." She looked at the clock. "Time for food. Hungry?" 

"Thank you, but I really should be getting back to my report. Will you be all right with, er - " 

"Oh yes. I'll look in on him before I go to bed." 

"I'd better stay for that, then. If he attacks - " 

"He's already had a try at me," said Mera casually. "Just after I finished the spell. I took him by the neck and held him off the floor until he ran out of steam. You were the one in danger earlier. I shouldn't have let you go in there." She grimaced. "We live an' learn, don't we?" 

"Oh." Rupert felt his machismo wilt a little. "Right. I'll come back tomorrow, if that's all right?" 

"More than all right. I want to talk to you about the Council." 

* 

Rupert had a restless night and got up very early, planning to immerse himself in work for a few hours. He switched on his computer and checked his e-mail, got out his diaries and notebooks and poised his fingers over the keyboard. Then he let his hands drop. Spike's ordeal and Mera's words just before he'd left last night made concentration impossible, and on top of that he hadn't heard anything at all from Olivia. His fingers twitched with the need to call her. 

"Sod it." Abruptly, he stabbed the power button on the computer. "Oh, I'm so _terribly_ sorry, Microsoft," he said acidly. "I didn't shut it down properly. How very disobedient of me." 

He slammed out of the study, grabbed his coat and left the house in a loud rush. 

* 

"I've had a bloody awful night," said Mera as she made coffee. "Why are you here so early? It's not seven yet." 

"Couldn't concentrate on work," replied Rupert. "Thanks to you." 

"Poor you." She set a cup down hard in front of him and dropped heavily into a chair. 

Rupert studied her. With red-rimmed eyes, unbrushed hair and a faded dressing-gown wrapped crookedly around her, she looked like any other exhausted woman he was likely to meet at this hour. 

"Seen enough?" she asked with venom. 

"Looks like you've had a worse night than me," he said. "Sorry for the bad mood." 

In the silence that followed, Mera switched on the radio and trawled impatiently through the channels. "Not in the mood to listen to sodding politicians this morning," she said. "Music's what I want. Ah, there." 

Rupert winced as a repetitive electronic beat filled Mera's kitchen, making him instantly edgy. "This isn't music, Mera. It's noise." 

"Better this noise than the sort MPs make." 

"I'll give you that one. How's Spike getting on?" 

"I was about to look in on him when you turned up. Better do it now, I suppose, and get it over with." She stood up slowly. 

Rupert saw that her hands were trembling. "Are you all right?" 

"I'm hating this, Rupert," she said. "With my entire heart and soul. I'll be back in a minute." 

"I'll come with you." Off her look, Rupert said: "I was just shocked yesterday. I'll be all right." 

* 

The vampire was standing against the wall on shaky legs. His eyes were a little wild, but Rupert could see that it was Spike in there at the moment. 

Spike looked at them standing just beyond the threshold and shook his head. "Don't come in," he said to Rupert. 

"I won't." Deliberately, Rupert took a step back. 

Spike raised his hands and watched them tremble. "It took over." 

"I know," said Mera. 

"It's going to do it again. I can feel it." 

"Yes. Until it's dead." 

"When will it be dead?" 

"I don't know, love," she said gently. 

"It attacked _me_, look." Spike pointed to bloody scratches on the front of his torso. "It didn't do much, though." He looked at Mera. "I'm almost wishing we'd never started this. I had no idea it would be so fucking _bad_." His voice cracked a little on the last word. 

"Neither did I," said Mera sadly. 

"Do you want anything?" asked Rupert. "Some blood - " 

"No!" said Spike, alarmed. "No, don't feed it." He slid down the wall to the floor. "Tired," he mumbled. 

His head fell forward and he was quiet for several minutes. Rupert and Mera waited. When the vampire looked up again, Spike was no longer there. As he launched himself at them, Mera pushed the door closed and ran a hand over her face. 

"Oh, shit," she said. "Shit. _Shit_! I wasn't prepared for that. I had no idea he'd get the upper hand again." She closed her eyes. "I really wish that hadn't happened. If he keeps coming back like that it's going to be worse for him than I thought." 

To Rupert's surprise he saw tears running down her face. He put a hand on her arm. "Maybe we should strap him to a bed or something. He's hurting himself." 

Mera got herself under control. "The demon'd break any restraints I used. I'll cut his nails next time he's quiet." 

"What about a spell?" 

"Good god, no. There's enough magic going on in there already. Don't want to upset the old apple-cart, do we?" 

To Rupert's relief, Mera sounded more like her old self again. They went back to the kitchen. 

"Would it kill him?" Rupert asked, thinking of Spike's scratches. "If it knows it's going to die anyway?" 

Mera looked pained. "I suppose there's a chance it could, but only by accident, not design. Vindictiveness requires a measure of intelligence and the vamp demon's nothing but an animal, really. An instinct." Mera flopped bonelessly into a chair. "Anyway, dying is something that happens to other people as far as vamps are concerned. They don't believe it applies to them, so even if it _could_ think, it'd probably spend all its time believing it's going to win this one." 

"Could it win?" 

"Not a chance. Once the spell's done there's no stopping it. It's like a poison. All the demon can do is fight until it can't fight any more. Then it dies." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "It just takes a long time, that's all." 

Rupert decided it was time for a subject change. "All right," he said firmly. "You said you were going to talk about the Council. So talk, woman." 

"Oooh, authority!" Mera brightened up. "I like a bit of - well, never mind. I'll get dressed first." 

* 

"There's a statue in the Council grounds," said Rupert. "Do you know of it?" 

"Yes." Mera smiled. "What do you think it is?" 

"I think it's a statue of a demon." 

"And you are absolutely correct. The last Demon left on earth, to be exact." 

Rupert thumped the table. "I knew it! Wait a minute - _that_ Demon? Who put it there?" 

"The Council, of course." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean the Council built the statue," said Mera pedantically. 

"Why?" 

"To remind them of their duty." She turned another chair around and put her feet on it. "It's like this: way back in the depths of time, the Council decided it would be a good idea to build a big reminder of what the fight was all about. So they built the statue. Its proportions were true, by the way. It was enormous. Whenever the Council moved they destroyed the old statue and built a new one where they settled next." 

"Good heavens." Rupert was amazed. "True proportions? How did they know what it looked like?" 

"Oh, come on. Our Demon was wandering around alone for a long time before he made his mistake. Many people must have seen him. There's cave drawings all over the place, and you know how accurate the cave-dwellers were in their art. What they saw, they drew. None of this poncing around we get nowadays." 

Rupert's eyes gleamed. "You must tell me where those caves are." 

"I will." 

"Do you know how old the statue is? I know there's been a building on that spot since Roman times - one of the cellars still has a full mosaic floor, but - " 

"That statue must be, oh - well over nine thousand years old." 

"What?" Rupert's mouth fell open. "Nine thousand years!" 

"Path remembers it being built. Why are you so surprised? You know how old the Council is." 

"Yes, but I didn't think they'd been in the same place for so long!" 

"The Council's been in that spot since the ice retreated." 

"Nine thousand. I have never heard of any statue that old." Rupert shook himself. "So this must be why there's so many ancient remains on Council grounds. I know the properties in Scotland and Ireland have some truly - " 

"Yes, indeed. Archaeological wonders that the Council themselves created. If the high-ups at the British Museum ever find out about it they'll have a collective orgasm." 

Rupert shook his head. "It's sad." 

"Yes?" 

"You know more about all of this than the Council does: how it began, the statue - " 

"Oh. Well, I'm constant. Watchers come and go. Things are forgotten." She frowned. "Forgotten deliberately, sometimes." 

"They could do with being reminded of all this." 

Mera looked at him thoughtfully. "And soon they will be." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I made myself known to Quentin Travers a few months ago." 

"Good god!" Rupert decided that this was going to be another of those days that were full of surprises. He'd been having a lot of them lately. 

Mera laughed. "He was very surprised, particularly when I put on the fangs for him. I told him he didn't know squat - I like that word - _squat_ about Vampires. Then I dumped a bottle of holy water over my head." 

"But wasn't that dangerous? Telling Quentin, I mean." 

"Possibly, but I'd seen the shape of his mind and took a chance. He - this may surprise you, but deep inside where _he_ lives he's not as hidebound as you'd think. I remember he was shocked. He went quite white, much like you did. He stared at me for a long time with his mouth open, and then he laughed. He surprised himself, I think." 

Rupert frowned, thinking that Quentin had taken it better than he had. "But why did you do it at all?" 

"Path and I want to come into the light." Mera smiled. "Do you know what it's like, being part of this whole battle and not being able to help? Unlike vampires we don't like to simply drift. We like to know we have a purpose." 

Mera suddenly swayed in her seat and gasped. She had been hit without warning by a powerful surge of anger and she stared at Rupert with astonished eyes. He was glaring at her, his face grim. 

"Oh my god," she said, breathing hard. "Whatever's the matter?" 

"I've just had a thought." Rupert's voice was clipped. "You said you always knew what was happening around the Slayer. You wanted a purpose?" He pointed at her. "You two could have helped us with Glory." 

Shaken, Mera slumped in her chair. "Oh, I see. God, you had me going there for a moment!" 

"You could have - " 

"We're not gods, Rupert." She looked earnestly at him. "Please, my dear, listen to me. Glory had all kinds of tricks going on to keep herself hidden. We had no idea she was even here on this planet. We didn't feel a thing when she ended up in Sunnydale. When she knew she up against the Slayer she _must_ have given thought to me and Path. You think she didn't know about us? She was a god! A stupid god, but still!" She rubbed her eyes hard. "The first we knew about it was when we felt Buffy die." 

Rupert sat frozen, his anger suddenly bereft of a target. He'd had no idea that the emotions he'd felt the day his Slayer had died were still so close to the surface. He relaxed slowly and Mera waited, saying nothing. 

"Sorry," said Rupert eventually. 

"Understandable. Think nothing of it." 

Mera got up and pottered at the sink, giving them both time to calm down. When she sat down again she decided to continue as if nothing had happened. "A long time ago the Council knew all about Path and I." 

Relieved, Rupert went along with her decision. "They knew?" 

"Oh yes. They consulted us frequently." Mera made an ugly face. "Then they forgot. I watched them change from being people who knew what it was all about, into the blinkered, tradition-bound, separatist idiots they've been for the last eleven or twelve hundred years or so. God, I hate to think how many Slayers they've killed with their outdated ways. Funnily enough, this turn-around in attitude co-incided with the arrival of Christianity in Britain and I've always wondered if that had anything to do with it. I don't mean Christianity itself, but the fanaticism that some people brought with them. You know fanaticism. It's like an unstable virus, infects people in different ways. Some of the Council members started in on the old familiar "We are the be-all and end-all of everything. Humans and only humans are Good. Anyone not human is Baaad, even if they look human." Mind you, some of 'em were like that anyway, but this was worse." 

She shook her head, her eyes unfocused as she remembered. "It was so insidious the way it started. When I became aware of it I thought it was a spell. I actually thought it was a spell! It never entered my _head_ that they'd do this all on their own. I was staggered when I found no magic at work." 

"They - the ones who subscribed to this tunnel-vision - they began to shun Path and I and, true to type, their voices got very loud and their numbers grew, just like a virus. What's that modern term? Zero Tolerance, that's it. They pushed out the helpful demons - became actively agressive towards them. Bloody fools gave no thought to the fact that they were cutting themselves off from their only allies. It was very upsetting." 

"Eventually Path and I found ourselves shut out, treated as lepers. Path was devastated. That was when she took off and found her little hidey-hole. Been there ever since. Now, me being much more bloody-minded, I stayed here and it's a good thing I did because later, in the fourteen hundreds, they burnt - " she raised a finger. "And I'll say that again just in case you didn't hear it - they actually _burnt_ a lot of writings that didn't fit their way of thinking. Anything about the connection between Slayers and vamps. Path and I, good heavens, anything about us had to be destroyed. It was mad. So much was lost it hurts to think of it. Ancient, ancient manuscripts, oh god! Knowing they had a statue of a demon on their grounds - a _demon_, can you imagine? - they destroyed any writings about it. They hacked at it but couldn't destroy it." She smiled grimly. "I'd already put a very strong protection spell on it. So they left it where it was, forbade anyone to talk about it, and it took some time but eventually its origins were forgotten, too. 

"Once this infection had hold of the Council bosses there wasn't any way I could approach them. It would have been suicide, their minds were so closed off. It'll do them a lot of good to be reminded of what they've forgotten." Mera looked at Rupert with bright eyes. "I've kept at a distance since I first spoke to Travers, but now you're here and pleasingly open-minded about it all, well - I think the time has come. Path agrees with me on this one: I spoke to her last night about it." 

"They won't like it," said Rupert with conviction. "They won't even believe it." 

"To hear that their precious Slayers are sisters to vampires? No, most of them won't like it. It'll offend them mightily, but that's hard luck. The fight's more important than their ideals. The world has changed again, thank god, and just like last time those changes are having an influence. New times, freer ways of thinking. Hence Quentin Travers. Michael Greco. You. And others, you'd be surprised at the number. I wouldn't even consider it otherwise." 

Rupert remembered Quentin's words about Spike. "There's quite a few that aren't so, ah, advanced." 

"They don't matter. They're not at the top. That's what counts." 

"I see. So you'll tell Quentin and - ?" 

"I'm not going to tell him. I'm going to let him find out on his own. You see, during the burning they didn't get their hands on everything they wanted to get rid of. The Council was split and those few who didn't like this new - ha! - new _regime_ took what they could and came to me and told me where they'd hidden it. There are manuscripts, parchments, all sorts buried for safekeeping in many places in these islands and the whole story is in these hidden pieces. I myself stole a lot right at the start of the madness and hid it, then when I had the chance I took it to the U.S. It's there now, buried. I'm going to tell Travers where to start and it's going to keep them busy for a long time. I imagine long before they've found half of what's hidden in England, Travers is going to be coming to me demanding clarification. I shall, of course, tell him to go away and find out on his own." 

Rupert looked up suddenly. "Those pieces in the U.S." 

"Yes?" 

"Where are they? Are they near California?" 

* 

"Hello Buffy." 

"Oh my god!" said the bright voice from Sunnydale. "Hi Giles! What's the what? And then some! Spill it." 

Rupert laughed. "I'm just calling to let you know I'm coming over in the next few days." 

"What? Oh, that's great! Any special reason?" 

"No. Well, yes, but I'll tell you when I get there." 

"Is it about Mera?" Buffy asked quickly. 

"N - well, in a way, I suppose." Rupert had a sudden premonition that he wouldn't be putting the phone down until she'd got it out of him. 

"Path?" There was a strange note in Buffy's voice. 

"Y-yes, it's about Path. Look, it's a long story - " 

"Tell me now." 

"I should really come over - " 

"Giles." Buffy's voice was suddenly flat. "Tell me." 

_She's worked it out. Sod it! I should have been with her!_

He opened his mouth but couldn't speak. 

"Oh god," Buffy moaned. "Oh god." 

"You know, don't you?" 

"I'm not stupid, Giles. I read that report of yours. And I remember the liturgy: 'For as long as there have been vampires, there have been Slayers'. Oh, god. And I've heard nothing about how Slayers came to be." 

"Buffy - " 

"Spike knows, doesn't he? The second he read your report, he shut up. But he looked really hard at me just before he left." She took a shaky breath. "Yeah, I worked it out. Anya was saying how she remembers something about 'The Three'. I thought, Three? What's _that_ about? And Path looks like the First Slayer. Wild hair, patterns on her face. She's from exactly the same time. I was really hoping I was wrong. Why didn't you tell me?" She sounded betrayed. "Why did I have to work it out on my own?" 

"Remember how impossible it was for you to tell Dawn what she is?" 

Buffy said nothing. 

"You know what I've been feeling," said Rupert. "You've felt it yourself." He frowned, hearing her breathing hard. "Are you all right, Buffy? Perhaps you should call Willow - " 

"How long has this been kept from us?" she demanded. 

"A long time. Mera says - " 

"Mera!" she snapped. 

"This isn't Mera's fault, Buffy," said Rupert gently. 

"I know. I _know_! But she's kinda the bringer of bad news, isn't she? Seems like every time she opens her mouth things get turned upside down." 

Rupert felt as if he swimming against the tide. "It may not be as bad as you think. Listen, you don't know the full story. It's - when you learn about the Slayer's Source I think you'll find it's not that bad." 

"Am I some kind of vampire?" It was sixteen-year-old Buffy at the other end of the line, the Buffy who had nightmares about becoming one of the things she killed every night. Who knew what her nightmares were now? 

Rupert spoke as hard and fast as he could. "No, of course not! You'd know if you were! You couldn't be more different. The Source is _not_ evil, understand?" There was silence. "Do you understand, Buffy? Are you listening?" 

"Yes." 

"I'll come over and tell you everything." 

"No! I'll go mad waiting. Tell me now." 

Rupert closed his eyes, knowing she'd win this one. "All right. I just feel I should be there." He thought about his conversation with Mera. "First, I'll give you what Mera told me today about the Council. There are hidden manuscripts - " 

Gripping the receiver hard, Buffy listened.   



	12. Phoenix.

Chapter Twelve.

  


Phoenix.

"Well?" asked Mera the next day. "Are you going?" 

"No," said Rupert. "She made me tell her immediately. She'd already worked it out." 

"She a quick one, that girl. Is she going for the manuscripts?" 

"Yes. I told her she might not be able to read them so she'll get Willow to do a translation spell." 

"Good." 

"No. Not good. I should be there." 

"She's old enough to make her own decisions. Time to let the child go, Rupert. If she wanted it this way - " 

"Yes." Rupert closed his eyes. "I told her about Olivia, too." 

"One big come clean, eh? Well, good. Secrets are terrible heavy things." Mera smiled. "Did she ask about Spike?" 

"Yes, but I didn't tell her how bad it was. Didn't want to worry her about that on top of everything else - " 

"Worry her? So you've accepted that part of it now?" 

"Yes," Rupert said dryly. "I'm all acceptance over everything. Tell me you're really a man and I'll accept that too. Not really much point in bucking against something you have no control over, is there?" 

_Except the dying of the light._

He stood up. "And now I'm going to 'come clean' about you to Michael - and Quentin, if he's there." 

"Have fun." 

* 

Michael chuckled. "I had a feeling she'd get in contact with you. When did you meet her?" 

"Christmas. I learned the truth about her later. Is Quentin around?" 

"No, he's in Singapore. Pity, he'd have been interested." Michael grinned. "So how did you take it?" 

"Like a fool, Mike. I walked out." Rupert recalled that day with a scowl. "But I redeemed myself by going back the next day." 

"Well, you kept this quiet, I must say." 

"So did you," shot back Rupert. "Anyway, I've had a lot to think about." 

"Why are you mentioning it now?" 

Rupert jumped straight in. "Mera's offered to make me one of them." 

Michael's face went blank. "What did you say?" 

"You heard me, I think." 

"Good god!" Michael struggled to his feet and began to pace. "What did you say to her?" 

"I haven't said anything yet." 

"Which means," said Michael pointedly. "That you haven't said no." 

Rupert sat back in his chair. "Should I say no, Mike? Do you believe that's the right answer?" 

"Does my opinion matter?" 

"Not in this instance, no. Whatever else those two are, they're not evil. I'm just curious." 

"Well, if you're asking me - " 

"I'm asking: if she offered it to _you_ would you accept?" 

Michael was very sure. "No." 

"Why? Because you believe it's wrong?" 

"Because," said Michael precisely. "I want to see what's next." 

"There might be nothing next." 

"Do you believe that?" 

Rupert laughed."No. Demons and vampires, werewolves and ghosts and gods, of course there's something next. I was just making sure of you, that's all." 

"Oh, I'm sure. Don't you worry about me, I'm quite looking forward to it." Michael winced as he sat down again."It's the bit that comes before that's unpleasant. Pass me that syringe thing, would you? That packet on the table there." 

"You're on injections?" 

"Yes, and I insist on doing it myself." 

Rupert watched as Michael gave himself the drug and slowly relaxed as it took effect. 

"Oh, blessed, blessed numbness," said Michael eventually. "So. Mera's offer. What do you think about it?" 

"Think? I've done nothing _but_ bloody think. She offered it to Olivia, too." 

Michael's eyebrows shot up. "Oh. My goodness." 

"Olivia is also dying of cancer." 

Michael found nothing to say. He watched his friend tap his fingers rhythmically on the arm of his chair. 

"Mera," said Rupert at last. "She's lasted five thousand years with her sanity. She's one of the most ordinary, down-to-earth people I've ever met, personality-wise. Do you think - if you don't have the spark to begin with, you'll never go insane?" 

"Possibly." Michael pointed at him. "You're seriously considering it, aren't you?" 

Rupert decided to be honest. "Yes. At first I didn't want to think about it. But now?" He looked at his friend. "You're tired of the fight. I'm not. I don't want to feel useless." 

"Then you must make your decision before you get any older." 

"Yes. You haven't answered my question, by the way." 

"Which was?" 

"Do you think it's wrong?" 

Michael shrugged. "As you say, there's no evil involved." 

"You're hedging." 

"I'm sorry, Rupert. That's all I can give you." 

Rupert stared at him. "But you didn't answer with a resounding Yes." 

"No." Michael raised his eyebrows. "I didn't, did I?" 

* 

For the next week Rupert spent every day working furiously on what he had entitled 'The Bloody Report." The pile of discarded paper on the floor grew high as he edited and revised and edited some more. It kept him mercifully busy. 

He visited Mera frequently, keeping up to date on Spike. The demon's tantrums had been growing less frequent over the last few days and the creeping darkness inside the little room had become lighter. The demon was losing, but Spike was very weak. 

As the demon slowly died, Mera became more and more agitated. "This is the hardest thing I've ever been through," she said. "And I was caught in the Fire of London. The second one." 

The time was drawing near when they would know for sure if the Balm had worked and Rupert found himself waiting for contact - from Mera, from Buffy, Olivia. Even from Quentin. The only communication he had with the Sunnydale gang was from Willow, who had taken it upon herself to give him daily updates on Buffy. 

Her first e-mail gave Rupert no peace. The gang had retrieved Mera's hidden manuscripts and was studying them avidly. The fascination count was high in Sunnydale. 

Buffy's reaction, however, was a different matter. She had become 'frighteningly frightening', as Willow put it. She hunted vampires with an unpleasant intensity, scouring not just the cemetaries but also the Bronze, the sewers, back streets - anywhere a vampire might hide out. She was dusting them almost in plain view of Sunnydale's citizens and not returning home until after midnight. Dawn was worried. They all were. 

Rupert put his head on folded arms. "Should be there," he muttered. 

Within a few days, to his immense relief, Willow's messages became happier. Buffy appeared to have swung completely the other way. She was quiet and pensive, and the gang were able to bring the manuscripts back out from where they'd hidden them because the Slayer was no longer inclined to 'Burn them to ashes and dust and jump up and down on all the little bits until there's nothing _left_!' 

Rupert's jaw dropped. This was one message that Mera was not going to hear about. 

At last, a week after he had visited Michael, his telephone rang. It was Buffy, feeling better. Rupert could have cried. 

"You were right. When I learned about the Slayer's Source, it did get better." 

"I thought it would." 

* 

"Well, that's a look I haven't seen on you for a while," said Mera. 

Rupert was smiling. "I had a call from Buffy. She's feeling better." 

"Oh, some good news for a change! Well, I think we should crack a bottle of something dangerous in celebration." Mera rummaged in a cabinet. "Oh, I know! How about this?" She held up a small dark bottle and gave him an evil grin. 

Rupert eyed the bottle dubiously. "What's that?" 

"A very - um - _particular_ Russian brandy." She carefully filled two into tiny glasses with a dark liquid. "Which means - " she took a sip, breathed hard and coughed. "It'll take your head off if you're not careful." 

Rupert looked nervously at his glass. "Is it hissing?" 

"Probably." 

Rupert sipped it gingerly and his eyes watered. "Christ." His voice cracked. "How's Spike?" He put the glass down carefully as if he thought it would explode. 

Mera's jovial mood evaporated. "Not a peep since last night. He was still moving around, but not very enthusiastically." She knocked back her drink and spent a few painful seconds recovering. "When I looked in after lunch today he was just lying there." 

"Is it - could his demon be gone?" 

"No, I tested him. It's weak but it's still there. Tenacious little bastard." She stood up and with an air of self-destructive intent filled her glass again. She raised it to her lips and stopped, standing very still and staring through the lounge door into the hallway. 

"What?" asked Rupert. 

"Listen." 

He concentrated. "Can't hear a thing." 

"Come on." Mera left the lounge. 

A jumble of blankets lay in the passage outside the door of what had become Spike's Room. Mera had sat there all night, every night, listening to the faint sounds of the demon raging and dreading the thought of Spike's personality gaining control once more. But since that first time he hadn't made another appearance. 

They stood beside the door and listened. Finally, Mera stirred. "No. Hell and damnation! I _couldn't_ have imagined it!" She reached for the handle. 

At that moment they both heard it: three weak, evenly-spaced knocks against the door. Mera whirled and pointed at Rupert. "Wait!" she said, and ran back up the passage. When she returned she was holding a knife. Rupert blinked at it, but she was already opening the door. 

There was no darkness in the little room. Spike lay on the cold concrete floor just on the other side of the threshold. He opened his eyes slowly and tried to look at them but his head weaved on his neck and he let it fall back. 

Mera knelt beside him. "Spike, love? You there?" 

His lips moved and she put her ear close to his mouth. After a moment she straightened up and raised a hand, saying something unintelligible. There was a brilliant flash that made Rupert blink rapidly and when he could see again, the room was suffused with a rosy glow. Like something reaching out, a thin golden tentacle of light emerged from the glow and touched Spike, following the planes of his face and probing into his hair. Squirming like a live thing, it ran back and forth over his body, leaving brilliant glittering trails on his abused skin. Enthralled, Rupert watched. 

The tentacle vanished, taking the glow with it. The trails on Spike's body faded quickly. 

Mera jumped to her feet. "It worked!" She pulled a stupefied Rupert into a hug and lifted him off the floor. "It bloody worked! The demon's gone and the Balm worked! Whooo!" 

Rupert extracted himself from her crushing grip. "Er - " 

"That light would have turned violet the moment it touched him if the demon was still there! It's gone and he's not dust! Oh _god_, I'm good!" 

Rupert gave her a bland smile. "I thought you were all worried about what was going to happen." 

Mera looked at him. "We will never," she said firmly. "Ever mention that again. Now, where's that knife?" 

"In your hand," said Rupert. "What's it for?" 

Mera knelt again and took Spike's left hand, turning it over to expose the wrist. "You don't think I'm going to bite him, do you?" 

"Well yes, actually, I did." 

Mera made a small cut on Spike's wrist. "No. We don't need to do all that revolting drinking." She jabbed the knife point into the end of her finger. 

"I thought you said Path drained you of - " 

"Path didn't drink." Mera squeezed a drop of blood from her finger and let it fall into the cut on Spike's wrist. She sat back. "I don't know that vampires _have_ to drink in order to turn someone, but I do know that, for them and us, the candidate needs to be weak - or actually dying in the case of vampires. Now, Path - I was the first person she'd ever turned. She only knew the way of the vampire, so she thought my blood had to be drained, but she didn't want to drink it. Yuk. So she cut my wrist and just let it run out. It wasn't necessary of course, because I was already weak enough." She studied Spike's face. "Now with your vamp, the candidate _has_ to drink, so even though she hadn't drunk mine, she thought I had to drink hers." Mera gagged theatrically. "It was the most disgusting, uneccessary thing I've ever voluntarily done. Agh. She cut her wrist and - again, agh. Afterwards we just looked at each other, waiting for something to happen. There was blood everywhere - mine in a big bowl, and hers all over the place." Spike stirred slightly and she ran a finger down his cheek. "We waited. And waited. Path began to cry. I began to cry. Then I was thoroughly sick, oh god, and I thought I was going to die after all. Finally, very sad, Path picked up my hand and touched my cut wrist with her finger - which happened to be covered in her own blood - and I felt a shock, not unpleasant. God, I'll never forget her eyes. They went so big! We both knew what had happened." Mera laughed. "She spent years apologising for making me drink her blood." 

Rupert suddenly realised what he'd seen her do and he pointed at Spike. "You've already done it, haven't you?" he asked in amazement. "You've turned him. Just now." 

"Well, yes. Don't have to drain him, he's already weak. _And_ dead. He couldn't be readier. Don't know if it'll take, of course." She shrugged. "Had to do it fast. He was prime vacant property. Anything could have moved in." 

Rupert shook his head. "No, I mean - that was _it_? You cut him, jabbed your finger, let a drop go into his cut, and voila?" 

"Well, yes." Mera looked puzzled. "Didn't you hear what I was saying?" 

"But it was only a drop!" 

"Yes. The smallest drop contains all of me." 

Rupert stared at Spike. Was the vampire suddenly no longer a vampire? "What if you had to turn a healthy human?" he asked eventually. 

"Healthy?" Mera sucked her bleeding finger. "I'd have to make them weak, of course. Quickest way would be to drain them of some blood." She spoke casually but was very aware of what she was saying to him. "I'd use some local anaesthetic, cut the wrist, let it run for a while and then put a drop of my own in there. Simple and virtually painless." 

"And no dying." 

"No dying." 

Rupert was still staring at Spike. "How will you know if it's worked? If he's turned?" 

Spike stirred and opened his eyes again. He looked at Mera and she heard him say faintly, "Am I dead?" 

Mera's eyes lit up and with a big, wide smile on her face she slid her arms under his body and hugged him. "No, love. You're one of us." 

"Mera?" Rupert asked again. "How will you know?" 

"I already know." She looked up at Rupert. "He just spoke to me." 

Rupert frowned. "Did he? I didn't hear - oh!" 

Mera smiled. "It's worked." 

* 

After his silent converstion with Mera, Spike passed out. The other two picked up his limp body and carried him upstairs. 

"In here." Mera backed into her bathroom. 

"Here?" Rupert was suddenly reminded of the time Spike had stayed with him. "What for?" Under Mera's direction he helped put Spike into the bath. 

"I'm going to wash all that crap off him." She picked through the bottles on the side of the bath. 

"Oh." He turned away. "Well. I'll just wait out - " 

Mera grabbed his collar with one hand and pushed a flannel at him with the other. "You'll take the top half is what you'll do," she said firmly. "And I'll - " she narrowed her eyes and smiled. "I'll take the rest." 

He laughed. "Has anyone ever told you - " 

"Frequently. Now scrub." Humming, Mera set to work. 

Rupert looked at the flannel in his hand and thanked whatever gods there were that Spike was unconscious. 

* 

They put him into Mera's bed; as Mera said, she hadn't slept in there for at least a week so one more night wouldn't make any difference. 

"He looks a lot better." Rupert brushed at splashes on his trousers. 

Mera studied the tousled head on her pillow. "Yes, he does wash up nicely doesn't he?" She stretched and arched her back. "Okay. I am way overdue for some relaxation. What say I make a meal and we get drunk?" 

"Meal first, I think." 

* 

"I must say, Mera, you're a splendid cook." 

"Yes well, if you ain't a good cook after several millennia, what use are you?" 

* 

_Gone, gone, gone, all gone. Freezing fire, gone. Empty, empty, empty - all the fire, screaming, spitting, raging, **glorious**, deep, deep down where it used to be warm before - no choice, no choice - before **she** came, madmadmad fire, and turned it all cold and it was so eeeasy, give it up, give in, give it all over and live for ever and killkillkill and not your fault nevernever any more._   
_'Cos you were hidden. And now you're not._   
_It wasn't my fucking choice. It wasn't my fucking fault. Not my fault. Not me. William? Pah. Couldn't kill a fly. Mr. Glorious Cold Fire - **he** could, but not William. No._   
_There will be no pathetic I'm-so-upset-at-my-actions asshole showing his face around here. Because they were not my actions._   
_It was not me. I know that._   
_But. Now. It's. All. Gone._   
_What's in here now? Can I blame it? What am I?_   
_What, what, what can I. Who can I. How can I._   
_What can I blame now?_

* 

"Looks like it isn't over yet," said Mera. 

Rupert watched the restless, shivering body in the bed. "If I didn't know better I'd say that was drug withdrawal. Or - he's not rejecting you, is he? Your turning him, I mean." 

Mera shook her head. "First thing I checked. No, I think you were closer when you said withdrawal. His emotions are completely muddled, nearly impossible to read, but one thing that is getting through is fear." 

"What's he got to be afraid of now?" 

"Life without his demon?" suggested Mera. "Think about it. For over a century that thing controlled him. He, William, took no responsibility for what he did. To have all that ferocity inside you for so long - imagine what it's like to have it suddenly vanish. I think the word we're looking for here is 'bereft'." 

"But why now? The demon hasn't been controlling him for months. He's been behaving like a human." 

"Yes. But it was still in there all the time, don't you see? He must have been able to feel it there. It was probably like a continuous growl going on in the back of his mind. He just buried it deep when he was given the chance. God, what an achievement!" She looked at Rupert. "Curse the Initiative all you want, but without them none of this would have happened." 

"So you're saying you think he's missing his demon?" 

"Yes. There's no getting away from the fact that he's literally on his own now. There's no convenient enemy inside him to whom he can just hand over control and responsibility. From now on, just like me, William takes the blame." She looked surprised. "Gosh, that was deep wasn't it? Forgot myself for a moment there." 

"You could be right, though." Rupert watched Spike turn his head, his legs churning. "Can't we do anything about that? Hold him still?" 

"We could, but I don't want to restrain him. I think he'll be all right. If he can get through the killing of his demon, he can get through this. I hope." She looked around. "I'll sleep in here, I think." 

A sudden thought struck Rupert. "I have to go," he said. "I've made a decision. I'm going to tell Michael - and Quentin if he's back - what's happened. Tell them Spike's no longer a legitimate target." He looked a little grim. "Tell them if any Council member tries anything with him they'll find themselves answering for it to me and Buffy. After what you and he have gone through we don't want some idealistic idiot ruining it all." 

Mera grinned. "And if that doesn't move them, tell 'em Path and I protect him now - and if they force Path to bestir herself on his behalf, she'll emerge like the tide of time and come like a pyroclastic flow." She looked pleased with her imagery. "I'm just full of it today, aren't I?" 

"Pyroclastic flow," mused Rupert. "Yes, that should do it."   
  
  



	13. To Be Or Not.

Chapter Thirteen.

  


To Be or Not.

For several days Mera watched Spike thoughtfully as he turned and turned in her bed. 

"Are you sure there's someone in there?" asked Rupert. 

"What do you mean?" 

"What if - what if you're wrong, and the demon _is_ the personality after all? What if that - " He pointed at the bed. "Is just a thoughtless body now?" 

Mera stared at him. "No," she said eventually. "No way. He spoke to me." 

"Yes, but it was only one sentence. It could have been his last gasp. What I'm seeing there doesn't look hopeful." 

"Shut up, Rupert." She looked grimly at the blond head turning back and forth on her pillow. "He's in there." 

* 

One night Spike became aware of a voice running in the back of his mind, seeming to sing to him in an almost inaudible whisper. It echoed out from the empty place deep inside where his fears surged and billowed and he lay still at last, struggling to hear what it was saying. He began to heal. 

Ever fascinated with Path's healing powers, Mera listened closely and watched with relief as her charge calmed down. But he kept his eyes firmly shut. 

She brought him food - the first food of any kind that he'd eaten since he had made his life-changing decision. He knocked her hand aside when she tried to feed him and fed himself by groping blindly for the food with his fingers. Looking at the resulting mess, Mera decided that cooked food was not a terribly good idea if he was going to do that. 

"You've got gravy over everything," she said. "Come on, get up so I can change the bed." 

"I ain't going anywhere." 

"No?" She picked him up and put him in a chair. 

He swore at her. 

"I know you're better," she replied calmly as she stripped the bed. "If you insist on acting like an invalid you will be treated like one." 

From then on he got sandwiches. His eyes remained closed. 

"You're going to have to open them some time," said Mera. 

"When I decide I want to." 

Four days later she decided it was war so she asked Rupert to stay away for a while and moved a television and vcr into the room, setting it all up at the foot of the bed - facing away from him. She put on some headphones, sat cross-legged on her makeshift bed and watched her favourite Monty Pythons; films she knew so well that she could quote every word and inflection. Which she did, loudly and continuously. 

" - and public 'elf - _what_ 'ave the Romans ever done for us?" she demanded, prodding an emphatic finger into her thigh. 

" - piece of shit, when you look at it," she sang with a grin on her face, waving a can of beer from side to side. 

" - my son, the jaws that bite, the claws that catch," she intoned with one eye on the stubborn occupant of the bed. 

" - intelligent life somewhere up in space, _'cos there's bugger-all down here on Earth!_" she yelled, glaring at the unruly bleached hair sticking out from under the duvet. 

Spike turned over with a jerk and put a pillow over his head, so she unplugged the headphones and turned the volume up high. 

It became a skirmish war. She was the skirmish, liable to happen to him at any moment. 

On the evening of the eleventh day after Spike had been turned, Mera entered the room to find him sitting up and looking through her Python videos. 

"At last," she said. "Is this permanent or are you just trying it out?" 

"Got the series on video?" he demanded. 

"I have, but I'm not going to lug them up here if you're just going to put your head under the pillow again." 

He locked eyes with her. "Got Fawlty Towers?" 

"Yes." 

"Red Dwarf?" 

"First four seasons." 

"What about League of Gentlemen?" 

"Of course." 

He glared at her, thinking furiously, and Mera glared back, hands on hips, legs akimbo. 

"Got Married With Children?" he demanded at last. 

"No." 

"Forget it, then." He fell back and pulled the duvet over his head, scattering the videos. 

She gripped the edge of the bed and tipped it up, spilling him onto the floor. "But I have satellite," she said sweetly. "So you can watch it downstairs." 

"Fuck!" he yelled, rubbing his shoulder. 

"Any time you're in the mood, gorgeous." She threw some clothes at him. "As you are now sitting up and looking about, from this moment you're out of my bed." She looked away and frowned. "Do I mean that?" 

He looked at the clothes. "These aren't mine." 

"No. But they're new, they're black, they don't stink of oranges and you'll wear them or go naked. Again." She went to the door. "I'll be back in five minutes. If you're not dressed by then, _I'll_ dress you." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't think I couldn't." 

* 

There was a full-length mirror at the top of the stairs and Spike spent a long time in front of it. Slowly, a smug smile appeared on his face. 

"Oh yeah," he said quietly. 

* 

"I was missing the demon," said Spike later that evening. "I never knew that'd happen." 

"Took me by surprise, too." Mera put a bowl in front of him and piled chocolate ice cream into it. "Say when." 

"When your arm falls off." Spike watched avidly as she filled the bowl. "I keep thinking I should be drinking blood. Thought of it makes me want to chuck-up now." 

"I expect it does. So what was going on in that head of yours? Until Path stepped in I thought you weren't coming out of it." 

"So that was Path, then? I wondered who it was." 

"She's a great healer." Mera sat down. "All I could get from you was fear. What were you thinking?" 

"Everything." Spike filled a spoon and then filled his mouth. "Muh - " he shook his head and swallowed. "It was like I was on my own for the first time. Like I couldn't function without something else in there." He frowned. "Nah. That's not it. It was like - who's in charge now? Like I was thinking I needed a bloody manager who'll tell me what to do." 

"Yes." Mera smiled. "William takes the blame." 

"What?" 

"Something I said to Rupert." She leaned toward him. "Welcome to responsibility, Spike." 

* 

The second of April was sunny and relatively warm for the time of the year so Mera, with Rupert looking on, tried to take Spike into the garden. Spike, however, wasn't going to be pressured. 

"Bloody wait, will you? I'll do it on my own, all right?" He looked his boots, the toes of which he'd placed on the exact edge of a shadow. On the other side of that shadow was the enemy, the very thing that had tried so hard in the past to set fire to him. 

"It won't hurt!" Mera said in exasperation. "You've been in the sun before when it couldn't hurt you, you know what it's like!" 

Spike spoke with forced patience. "I had a magic ring. It was different. So piss off." 

Mera threw up her hands. "Oh, brother!" She turned to Rupert. "What are you laughing at? Come on." She stepped into the sun and went to the table and chairs she'd set out on the grass. "There's beer!" she yelled back at Spike. 

"I don't care!" 

"Now, that I definitely don't believe," said Rupert as he joined Mera. 

While Spike was still hesitating in the doorway, Rupert took the opportunity to speak to Mera privately. "I've made a decision about your offer," he said. 

Mera looked at him with quick interest. "Yes?" 

"Can't you tell?" 

Mera closed her eyes. When she opened them again she smiled and put a hand on his arm. "That's grand news, Rupert. You know it won't be bad?" 

"Yes, I remember what you said." Rupert took a sip of beer. "You were right, you know. It was stupid, not wanting to think about it because Olivia was going to die. If she dies, my life will still go on. I had to think about that. And when I realised I was actually considering it, I knew I had to decide now, not ten years from now." 

"Did you tell Olivia it was extended to her too?" 

"Yes. She hasn't answered yet." He looked back at Spike, who hadn't moved. "I don't want to do it until I've heard from her. And if her answer is no, I won't do it until she's - gone." 

"Whatever you want," said Mera. "I'm going to tell Path right now." She closed her eyes again. 

Rupert sat back, feeling very satisfied and at ease. He looked around at Mera's garden, still mostly in it's winter nakedness but with a little green fuzziness around the edges. The daffodils were putting up their shoots. Or were they tulips? He was about to take another beer when a pale hand reached over and took it away. 

Spike sat down and looked around, cracking the tab on the can. "Nice day, innit?" 

* 

_Wonder if Buffy's going to think I've changed._   
_Oh shit. They're all gonna be looking at me like I'm some kind of sodding freak. "Oooh, look! It's Spike! And he's in the sun! And he's not on fire!"_   
_Bloody hell._   
_Angel's still a demon._   
_What if I'm so ordinary now that she starts thinking I'm a wi - that I'm nothing to write home about?_   
_Nah. That's Riley-think, that is. Ain't going that route._   
_Yeah, but what if she **does** think that?_   
_Oh, crap._   
_Shit._   
_Wha? Path? Yeah, thanks for the help before, love, but I'll work this one out on my own if you don't mind. What? Speak clearly? I am!_

Spike burst into Mera's lounge. "This Path," he demanded. "She always there?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"She just spoke to me. Knew what I was thinking. She always eavesdrop like that?" 

"No, no! Intrusion isn't her forte. She's just concerned, that's all. I'll tell her not to worry about you." 

Spike was mollified. "Yeah, well. Not as if I mind, not really. It's just if a guy's got no privacy in his head what's he going to do?" 

Mera grinned at him. "What were you thinking about?" 

"Buf - none of your business!" He sat down. "And what's all this 'speak clearly' crap she gave me?" 

"Ah. Let me explain." 

* 

_What if she thinks I'm nothing now?_

* 

Back in his bedroom in Rupert's house, Spike stared at the mirror in disbelief. "_Sunburn_? I've got a vamp's body! What's this friggin' sunburn?" 

Enjoying himself, Rupert leant against the doorframe. "Who was the last vampire you knew who managed to get a suntan after he was turned?" 

"None, you silly git, they all combust - oh, _what_? Are you telling me if we - if they didn't catch fire they'd _tan_? Bollocks!" 

"Look at yourself in the mirror again - if you can bear to - and tell me what else it could be." 

"Bloody hell! It's April, not sodding July!" 

"Spike, considering the century you grew up in, I doubt if anything except the skin on your face and hands have ever been exposed to the sun. Which means you're probably liable to burn at the slightest opportunity. I'd be very careful if I were you. Be wary of the wind, too." 

Spike put his face close to the mirror and peered at the bridge of his nose. It was bright red. "Am I going to peel?" 

"I sincerely hope so." 

"Oh yeah, cheers mate." 

* 

On the morning of the twenty-third of April, Rupert stood at the french windows in his lounge and shook his head as he watched the ex-vampire walk around the garden in the sun. It was half past seven and Spike would be out there all day. The man seemed to regard a sunny day as a call to battle and never failed to show up at muster. Today he was bare-chested despite a chilly wind and Rupert wondered how bad the sunburn had to become before he started showing some caution. Spike, to his own extreme surprise, had already been made physically ill and his host didn't look forward to another night of listening to groaning and heaving coming from the guest bathroom. He dreaded what was going to happen when the weather really started to heat up. 

When the doorbell rang he answered it and stood speechless as he gazed at Olivia for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. 

* 

"Would you like a drink? Alchohol?" Rupert felt like a boy on his first date. 

"No, I can't." Olivia sat on the sofa. "It makes me sick now." 

Rupert nodded and, suddenly needing somewhere else to look, glanced out of the window. Spike was sitting on the steps that led down to the grass from the patio, watching something tiny crawl over his hand. 

Olivia stirred. "Have you decided?" she asked. 

"Mera's offer?" Rupert turned to face her. "Yes, I've decided." 

She studied him. "You're going to do it." 

"I have to. I want to. There's too much to do and not enough time. I love life a-and I know it's possible to make it throught the years - Mera's the proof of that. She isn't evil and - I don't want to die." 

Olivia sat very still and Rupert felt a stab of worry. "How are you?" he asked softly. 

"Not so good today." 

"I'm sorry." 

Outside, Spike stood up and walked down the steps onto the lawn. He looked around and turned right, moving out of view. 

Olivia looked up at Rupert. "I love you." 

"I love you too." Rupert smiled sadly. 

"I saw a beautiful sunset the other night." She joined him at the window. "There are many beautiful things to look at in the world." 

"Yes there are." 

"Flowers." Olivia nodded at the garden. 

"Mountains," added Rupert. 

"You." 

He laughed. "I wouldn't call me beautiful, but - " 

"I don't want to die either, Rupert." 

He froze, his heart suddenly thudding. 

"I don't want to die," she said again. 

Rupert found himself breathing fast. He concentrated and spoke slowly, carefully. "Heaven can wait?" 

"Yes. Heaven can wait." 

"For a very long time?" 

"Yes." 

"You want to see many beautiful things with me?" 

"Yes." 

"You're prepared to do what's necessary?" 

"Yes." 

"Are you afraid?" 

"No." 

"Good." His pulse was racing now. "Will you marry me first?" 

"Yes." 

"Tonight?" 

"Yes." 

"We need a registry office." 

"I need a dress." 

* 

"Spike? God help me, but I need a best man." 

"Oh, you're joking." 

"Unfortunately, no. Put that cigarette out and come with me." 

"Well, I ain't wearing a suit, mate." 

"Yes you are." 

* 

"Why, I'd love to give Olivia away old boy! Who's going to be a witness?" 

"A witn - er - " 

"Quentin's here." 

"Er - " 

"He could do it, if you haven't other plans." 

"Er - " 

"Ah, the brain-dead bridegroom! Haven't seen one of those in years! Registry or church?" 

"-" 

"Speak up." 

"Could you or Quentin get on the blower and arrange a registry office? We want it done tonight and we've clothes to buy and no time and - " 

"Done, my friend. You go off and get the jitters." 

* 

"I _ain't_ wearing a bloody _suit_!" 

"Put. It. On." 

* 

When you employ the Watcher's Council to arrange things for you it all gets done very quickly and efficiently, and offices that are normally shut after 5 p.m. become magically open again. 

At nine o'clock that evening at the Registry Office, while they were waiting for Olivia to arrive, Quentin took Rupert aside leaving Spike standing very self-consciously on his own. 

"Michael told me about Mera's offer to you and Olivia," said Quentin. "I think it's very interesting. Have you answered her?" 

"Yes." 

"Which way did you go?" 

"Which way?" Rupert looked amused. "You need to ask? You're not so sure I'll refuse?" 

"Michael also told me that you were actually considering it - so yes, I need to ask." Quentin waved a hand at the room. "And you're about to marry a woman who is going to die soon, as far as the normal world is concerned." He paused. "Is she about to die?" 

Rupert studied him. "Does it worry you?" 

"Forewarned is forearmed." 

"You think you'll need to be armed if I accept the offer?" 

Quentin sighed. "Armed with knowledge, Rupert. If you do this I'll not come gunning for you, but people will need to know so I ask again - is Olivia going to die?" 

"No, Quentin. She isn't." 

"I thought as much. And when will this turn-around happen?" 

"Right after the wedding." 

Quentin studied him closely. "You do know it's quite possible that you and she will not stay together for ever?" 

"I know that. She knows that. We're taking what we can, that's all. And while it lasts, it'll be everything we want." Rupert decided this was all the private information that Quentin was entitled to. "These people who need to know," he said. "Who are they?" 

"Many and various. My successor, for instance." Quentin frowned. "Who, incidentally, is now number two on my list of candidates." 

"Two? Why not number one?" 

"I've just lost number one," said Quentin flatly. 

Rupert opened his eyes wide. Everything suddenly fell into place. "Oh." He fought back a grin. "Really?" 

"Really." 

"And you spent all that money on me, too." Rupert laughed. "Will you be wanting the house back?" 

"No. As I see it, I'll have even more reason to keep you sweet than I did before." 

"Afraid of Mera, Quentin? I don't blame you. This means I get to keep the car too, then." 

"Yes, Rupert," said Quentin wearily. "You keep the car." He glanced at Spike. "How is the ex-vampire?" 

"He's fine," said Rupert. "Or rather, he appears to be fine. Never really know what's going on with that one." 

"I'd like a report about the whole process," said Quentin. "Only if you have the time, mind you." 

"Oh god, another one?" 

"It's merely a request. After you've - changed - you will no longer be in my employ." Quentin studied his fingers. "The turning of a vampire into a non-vampire," he mused. "A fascinating and unique occurrence." He sighed. "Oh well. As I said: if you find the time, I'll be grateful." 

"Oh, I _see_. A polite request with pressure." Rupert laughed. "I've nearly finished Buffy's story, so I'll see what I can do. After I've had a long, long honeymoon. I'll tell you now, though - you won't be getting the whole story. There's a secret something that you'll never be told." He looked firmly at him. "And it's no use arguing." 

Quentin nodded and they fell silent. Rupert watched Quentin straighten his tie and knew there was something more the Head Watcher wanted to say to him. "Spit it out, Quentin," he said. 

"Very well. I had contact from Mera yesterday." 

Rupert felt a little thrill. "Oh yes?" 

"Yes." Quentin's face was bland. "She told me of some hidden manuscripts that she thought I might like to look at." 

"How interesting." 

"Indeed." Quentin was not taken in by Rupert's apparent innocence. "Do you know what they are?" 

"Yes, Quentin. I do." 

Quentin waited. Rupert, wearing his best poker face, also waited. 

At last Quentin sighed. "What are they?" 

"Find out for yourself," said Rupert with a smile. 

The head of the Council of Watchers knew when to let go. "Very well. You really are the most vexing man, sometimes." 

Olivia and Michael arrived. 

* 

Two hours later: 

"Well, as I live and breathe! And I do, too. If it ain't Mr. and Mrs. Giles!" Mera ushered them into her house and flapped around them, taking their coats. She glanced at Olivia. "Or is it Mr. and Ms? Never mind." She stood before them. "Ready?" 

Rupert nodded. "We are." 

"No doubts?" 

"No," said Olivia. 

"Come this way then, my dears. Everything's ready."   
  
  



	14. Sunnydale.

Chapter Fourteen

  


Sunnydale

  
  
  


"Buffy?" 

"Giles! Hi! God, we haven't heard from you for ages! How`d everything go? You know, with Spike. Is it over? Is he okay? I want details, Giles." 

"Yes, it's over. It took a while, but Spike is now, um...an un-vampire." 

"It worked then." She took a deep breath and let it out hard. "So, no more evil demon. That has to be good. In fact, that's amazing. How - how's he liking it?" 

"He has discovered the joys of sunburn." 

"He can sunburn? Wow." 

"He can burn, and I happen to know for a fact that he can vomit." 

"A peeling nauseous Spike. Oh my." 

"It was quite amusing." 

"I bet. What about you? Everything good with my old Watcher?" 

"Not so much of the old, if you don`t mind. I'm better than good, Buffy." He hesitated. "I`m married." 

There was a silence. "What?" Another silence. "What was that? _What! When?_ Who? Olivia, right? **Why** wasn`t I invited?" 

"It happened last night and yes, I married Olivia. It was very rushed, Buffy, I`m so sorry I couldn`t tell you. There was no time. We made the decision, Michael arranged a registry office, we did it. From start to finish, less than a day. Or several decades, depending how you look at it." 

Buffy sounded pitiful. "But - but I could have been a bridesmaid! I`ve never been a bridesmaid! I could have given you away! Oh, _Giles_! I could have thrown you down the aisle at her! Like a baseball!" 

Rupert started laughing. "Buffy, slow down. Spike gave me away - err - was my best man. Now listen. We`re going to have a confirmation." 

"You're...you're gonna have a what?" 

"A confirmation. Well, that's what we're calling it, anyway. It's really nothing more than an excuse to have a party with all of you. We've always disliked the official marriage service - so stuffy - so we`re going to have another one written entirely by Olivia and I. It will be in Sunnydale, and you are invited to be bridesmaid this time. But only if you really want to." 

Rupert jumped and held the receiver away from his ear as Buffy screamed. When he listened again she was thirteen years old and babbling. 

"Ohmygod! I gotta tell everyone! I have to get ready. I must do the buying of presents and clothes and stuff. Ohmygod, and more presents." 

"And more clothes?" 

"Yes! And, and more things and stuff! But why the rush, Giles? _Tell me_." 

"Oh, well...m-many things were about to-to happen fast. Extremely fast. We wanted to get married before it all began. Oh, and I am now an unofficial member of the Council, in a way." 

"Huh? Here I am again with the what? Unofficial? Why unofficial? Did you get the sack again? Wait a minute - what was that you said about Spike? Your best what? Oh god, too many whats. I`m getting a headache." 

"Spike was my best man because out of all of them here he`s the one I know best, sadly. You should have seen him in a suit, Buffy. It was priceless." 

"Oh. My. God." Buffy closed her eyes. "Does he show up in a mirror now?" 

"Yes. He's spent a very long time admiring himself." 

"Well, you better have photographs, Giles, that's all I'm saying. Okay. Okay. So what`s with the unofficial bit?" 

"It has to be unofficial. Be-because of what happened just after our wedding." 

"If you hedge any more I`m gonna reach down the line and pull off one of your balls." 

Rupert coughed nervously. "All right. I-I`m not sure you`ll like this bit, Buffy. Olivia and I..." He took a deep breath. "You know Olivia is dying. Was dying. We - we wanted to get married as normal people, Buffy. Afterwards, Mera...oh, bloody hell!" Rupert ran out of breath and steam. He couldn`t say it, but he didn`t need to. She knew. 

In Sunnydale Buffy held up a finger and said, very brightly: "Excuse me just _one_ moment." 

Rupert heard a clatter as she dropped the receiver. 

* 

Three days after Rupert and Olivia were married - and turned - Mera arrived at Little Eden with a stack of papers. 

"I need signatures, and lots of 'em." She looked at Spike. "Yours too, gorgeous." She spread the papers out on Rupert's dining table. "Put your paw-prints here, and here. And there." 

"What's this for, Mera?" 

"Accounts." 

"What accounts?" asked Spike, pricking up his ears. 

"Your accounts. To enable you to access the mind-boggling fortune that Path and I have built up." 

Rupert blinked. "I beg your pardon?" 

"As members of the family you're entitled to the money." 

"A-are we? Oh." 

Spike grinned. "Did you say Mind-Boggling?" Mera nodded and his grin grew wider. "Yeah, thought you did. So..." he leaned forward with an intent look on his face. "Just how much would that be? 'Cos I'm out of smokes." 

Mera waved a hand. "Oh, we're positively _rolling_ in it, dear. Like little fat pigs in shit." 

* 

On the twenty-ninth of April, Rupert received the phone call that he had been waiting anxiously for. 

"Giles?" 

"Buffy, oh thank heaven." 

"Oh god, Giles, I'm _so_ sorry. I-I was just - stunned, I think. I just couldn't imagine it. Couldn't picture it, not with you. It was very...freaky. But, but it's all right. I'm all right because this morning I thought of something and it made me laugh. You know what that was?" 

"What?" 

"Spike. You're his _brother_ now!" 

Rupert's mouth fell open. He listened to the noise coming down the line from Sunnydale, and then he held up a finger. "Would you...would you excuse me for one moment, Buffy?" He dropped the receiver and walked blindly into the kitchen, where the tiny sound of Buffy's laughter couldn't follow him. 

* 

On the sixteenth of June the sun was shining, as usual. Merry bunting fluttered in a light breeze. Willow also fluttered, having apparently regressed to the age of sixteen. She clung to Tara`s arm and jiggled in excitement. Xander nudged her. 

"Better slow down, Will. The ground`s cracking." 

"But it`s a wedding!" Willow burbled. "Giles' wedding! It's a wedding!" 

Tara laughed. "She`s been like this since she woke up. It`s not really a wedding though, is it? It`s a party. The wedding`s been done." 

"Oh, but it`s like a wedding and they even have bridesmaids! And they`re having it here! With us!" Willow went into superior mode. "And if I want it to be a wedding, it`s a wedding." She jiggled again. 

Anya began to laugh. 

Xander looked around at the guests. "Woah. To coin an English phrase - bloody hell. Look at Spike." 

Anya turned. "He`s here finally? I thought he wasn`t going to show, what with not seeing anyone since he got back. Where is he - oh. Oh **my**." 

Willow spotted him and squealed."Oh my god! In the sun! In a _suit_? He's in a suit! And sunglasses! Oh my god!" 

They watched him come toward them. 

"Can`t stand these bloody suit things," said Spike as he joined the group. Uncomfortable and nervous, he pulled at his collar. "I like the shades, though." The gang stared at him and he looked around, clearing his throat. "Well, this is nice." 

"Yes, you`re lovely," said Tara, and winced. She gave herself a mental slap. "Ah, I mean - your suit, actually. You look really good. Oh, and welcome to the sunshine." 

Catching his eye, Anya grinned and wiggled her fingers at him. "Look at you." 

"Yeah, great. Everyone's looking at me." 

"I'm not," said Xander. 

"Harris. Didn't miss you at all, mate." 

"Got my passport?" 

"Nope. Burned it." 

Unaware that with the exception of Spike`s mother she was probably the only human female to have ever voluntarily done so, Willow gave him a tight hug. His eyes grew wide. 

"Spike, you look so fine! And the glasses, yes, they`re so cool! And your face is tanned - Buffy`s _so_ going to freak when she sees you!" 

"What, again?" Spike felt a little shaky. 

"Oh, she means in a good way," said Tara. 

"Yeah," Xander piped up. "We`re fairly sure she`ll only hit you the once." 

Spike looked him up and down and grinned. "Well, look at you in your _monkey_ suit." 

Xander nodded calmly and the slanging match got under way. "So Spike, what are you now? What do we call ya? Still dead? Proof you don`t need a demon to be a pain in the ass? What`s the medical term? And I`m asking purely for irritation's sake. I want you to be clear on that one." 

Spike opened his mouth but at that moment the music started. "Later," he said. 

"You betcha." 

They hurried to their seats in the front row. Becoming more nervous by the second, Spike picked up a prayer book with distaste. "Oh, sod. Have we got to do this stuff? Please say it isn`t so. I _hate_ this god-bashing rubbish." 

"Don't bother with them, Spike," said Xander. "I hate to think what would happen if you actually said one of those." 

"Oh, bugger it all to hell." 

"Stop whining." 

"Sod off." 

Unable to sit still, Willow turned in her seat and looked at the quests. "Oh, hey. Isn`t that Quentin Travers? There`s a guy with him. He looks ill. That must be that poor Michael guy Giles was telling us about," She turned and saw Spike gingerly holding the prayer book in forefinger and thumb. "Oh, don't worry. This is Giles, remember. Oh!" She flapped her hands. "They`re coming!" 

It was a nice, romantic ritual with sunshine and quite a few laughs, the scent of flowers and many a loud and exaggerated "Aahh" from the dangerously emotional Scooby Gang. The prayer books, merely Rupert's way of getting a rise out of Spike, weren`t used at all. 

Spike himself, however, suffered the jitters throughout the ceremony and had never before felt so nervous. He was the only guest who didn`t turn to look as, clad in a glistening deep green gown, Olivia came down the aisle with her two bridesmaids behind her. He sat rigid in the front row as Rupert and his wife turned to face the guests and the bridesmaids took position on either side of them. Hardly daring to move lest it drew attention to him, Spike spied on them from the corner of his eye. 

Dawn was closest to him, wearing a deep blue gown and a huge grin. She looked as though she was about to laugh. Becoming bolder, Spike looked along the line and felt a shock go through him. There she was standing next to Rupert, dark red gown, flowers in her hair and a wide smile as she moved her head forward slightly and looked toward the Scoobies. Spike jerked his head down and wondered if he was going to vomit. Rupert and Olivia were speaking, but Spike didn`t hear a single word. 

The ceremony ended unceremoniously when Rupert looked to his right, nodded, and a band banged into life. The bride, groom and the two bridesmaids linked arms in a line and led the laughing and clapping guests across the grass to the paved dancing area. The gang made their way to a table under a tree and dropped their jackets and bags, looking around the crowd for Buffy and the others. They saw her waving at them to join her and Dawn by the buffet and they made their way over. 

"Hey!" said Xander. "Huge food!" He grabbed a plate and began heaping it on. "So, Buffy. Dawn. You`re both looking like this table. Very edible. Having a good time?" 

"Having a great time," said Buffy. She laughed. "Giles was so out of it before the ceremony. I thought he was going to faint." 

"He was really funny," said Dawn. "Olivia was really laid back, though. I like her, she`s cool. It's so good she`s not dying any more." 

Anya looked around. "Where are they, then? Why aren`t they here? With us? All happy?" 

"Doing the photograph torture thing." Buffy nodded to her left. Rupert and Olivia were seated on the grass smiling self-consciously at a photographer. "We`ll have to join them in a minute. Oh yeah - he wants us all to go visit him in England soon and we're not to worry about the cost 'cause he'll pay. So I told him we'd need a few weeks to think about it." She laughed. "Oh, and it must be all of us together. For as long as we like. Before autumn. He was very specific. He said something about sitting in the sun in his garden and there was mention of wine, cake and strawberries. Personally, I'm already there." 

There was a loud burst of conversation and Willow began to jiggle again. 

"Will," said Xander as they calmed down. "I _swear_ you`re gonna wet yourself sometime today." 

Tara looked over at the photographer. "Has Giles showed you the pictures of their other wedding yet?" she asked Buffy. 

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. Funny to see Spike standing there all stiff." 

"Stiff`s the word," said Xander. "In more ways than one. Hey, where is he anyway? Not that I care. I'm just...you know. Curious. In a bored way." 

Tara saw Spike sitting at their table looking very alone. He`d taken off his jacket and tie, undone the top few buttons of his shirt and pushed up his sleeves, but he didn`t look any more relaxed. 

"Poor Spike," said Willow. "He`s so nervous, Buffy. I think it took real courage to come here at all. Please go say hello to him?" 

Buffy looked across at Spike sitting in the sun. The sun...she still couldn`t get her head around the fact that he had a right to do that and not burst into flames. She`d had a full report from Rupert about the unpleasant ritual he`d gone through and his traumatic week following it, and she felt uncomfortable knowing that he`d voluntarily gone through hell for her. Again. But Buffy had already made up her mind about Spike. "I tried to catch his eye earlier, but he wouldn`t look at me," she said. 

"I don`t know why," said Xander around a mouthful of food. "I told him you`ll only hit him once." Buffy slapped him on the arm. "Ow." 

"Olivia`s waving at us," said Dawn. 

"Tell them I`ll be a minute." 

Willow whispered in Buffy`s ear. "Go get him." Buffy grinned at her. 

She made her way through the crowd on the dance floor. Spike saw her coming and felt an overpowering urge to run. He stood up quickly, sat down and knocked over his glass. When Buffy reached him he was trying to mop up with a paper napkin. He kept his eyes on the spilt wine, thankful to have something to look at. 

She slid into the seat next to him. "Hi." 

He glanced sideways at her. "Oh. 'Lo Buffy." 

She smiled "That's a nice tan you`ve got there." 

"Um." He continued to mop, although the napkin was falling to pieces. 

She leaned her arms on the table. "So why didn`t you come see me and Dawn? We were expecting you all week. Giles didn`t know where you`d gone. And you weren`t at your crypt - I checked." 

"Oh, well - didn`t want to intrude. You know. You and Dawn getting ready and everything. I booked me into a hotel suite." He grinned at the table cloth. "S'nice, being rich." 

Buffy blinked. "Rich? Oh! Path's money, right." 

"Yeah. Never be short of smokes again." 

Buffy laughed. "Are you gonna stay in the hotel or go back to the crypt?" 

"Dunno. Don't think it'd feel right now, going back to the old place." 

"Hey!" Buffy faked a sudden thought. "What about moving in with me and Dawn for a while? Yeah, good idea! We`ve a spare room. Only if you want to, though." She looked at him, grabbed a bottle of wine and filled his glass. "Drink this, quick." 

Dropping the sodden remains of the napkin, Spike lunged for the glass and took a big gulp. He opened his mouth and found that his voice didn`t work. From the corner of his eye he could see Buffy smiling at him and he blinked. 

"Giles told me about your, ah, cure," said Buffy. "Sounded nasty." 

Relaxing a little, he found his voice and shrugged. "Yeah, well. Wasn`t that bad." 

"Giles also told me you`d say that." 

Spike rode his emotional rollercoaster all the way back up to self-concious. Dying by degrees, he cast around for something to say. "So, you`re okay with Giles being what he is now?" 

"Yeah. It shocked me, but I should have seen it coming when I had that call from him about, um, you know...my origins, and he told me about Olivia's illness. I always knew those two had something special." She looked across at Rupert, who pointed at the photographer and waved them over. She ignored him. "I'm okay with it. I mean, look at what _I_ am. Even if I wanted to I couldn't criticise them. There's no evil wigginess involved and that's all that matters. Strange to think of them living forever, though." She looked closely at Spike`s face. "You seem the same. I`m glad. I`d have hated for you to change in some way. I was worried about that." 

Embarrassed, Spike shook his head and changed the subject. "The ceremony was good, I thought." 

"Oh, you saw it then?" Buffy took a sip of his wine and grinned slyly. "With your head down like that I thought you were asleep." 

Spike stared at the lip-print she`d left on his glass. 

"You didn`t look at me at all, I know that," she continued, pouting. "Still haven`t." 

"Oh, I did." He straightened up and looked directly at her at last. "You - you looked really nice. Still do." 

"Thanks." 

"Really nice. Like the sun." Horrified at what his mouth had just said, he clamped his lips shut. Where had the Big Bad gone? He felt as though he`d left all his cool back in that terrible little room in England. 

"Like the sun? Wow. You're looking pretty cosmic yourself." Looking at his face, Buffy took pity on him and changed tack. "It`s good you came today, Spike. We needed all the gang together for this." 

"Yeah. Um, you`re welcome." 

"You do know you`re one of the gang, don't you? You were a Scoobie long before you left for England." 

"Uh, yeah. All right." He shrugged. "I suppose." 

"You`re _sure_ you know that?" 

"Yeah. Okay." 

"Right." Shocking him rigid, she leaned in and kissed him hard. "So what are you doing all the way over here?" She stood up and pulled him to his feet. "Get your ass over with us." 

She slid an arm around his waist and guided his suddenly unstable body around the dance floor toward the patch of grass where the rest of the gang was sitting waiting for them. 

As they walked, she looked up at him and spoke seriously. "There`s food, you know. The kind you can eat now, too." 

She nodded solemnly at him and sudden amusement made Spike`s lips jerk into his familiar smirk. A laugh bubbled up and he felt his cool returning. 

Buffy waved her free hand and continued: "Yep. And dancing together reeaaly close. Lots of that. There is also much talking to be done, and presents to be giving." She was on a roll now. "And later there will be drunkeness and tone-deaf singing. I`m ashamed to tell you this, but you'll probably have to carry me home. Oh, and please listen carefully - one of the bridesmaids _must_ be kissed repeatedly or she'll just, you know, go totally out of control, and that...well, wouldn`t be pretty, that`s all I'm saying. It`s important, see? And there`s _photographs_ to be taken, for God's sake - hi, gang." 

"Just sit the fuck down in front," said Rupert, channelling Ripper once again. 

Full to the brim now with utter cool, Spike grinned and turned to the photographer. "Wotcher. So where d'you want us then, mate?"   


  


****************   


EPILOGUE.   
  
  


The bell above the door of Mitchings' single shop rang lightly as Rupert, hefting a carrier bag, stepped out into warm August sunlight. He turned and strolled up the road, looking around at the pretty little village. 

Mitching in summer was a chocolate-box photograph with flowers cascading over walls and around doors, and deep green secrets under bushes and trees. In the surrounding fields the crops approached harvest, and Rupert saw that overnight a joker had spent some time creating an unusual crop circle. Looking at the shape of it, he had a strong suspicion that he knew the culprit. 

The heady scent of roses came to him on a small breeze and he breathed deeply, relishing the thought that next August he would smell it again...and the next, and the next for a hundred years, or a thousand. Would he ever grow tired of it? Would there ever come a year, far in the future, when he would walk through a rose-garden and not notice? 

"Remember the scent of roses," he told himself. "Always remember." 

But if there was one thing Mera had taught him it was that only the forgettable became forgotten; the wonderful remained wonderful for all time. He'd seen her in her garden with her nose in a flower and a smile on her face. He didn't think he would forget. 

He strolled on, thinking of Mera's promise to visit sometime this afternoon. He was looking forward to her arrival. He grinned and swung the bag, making it clank a little. 

A lazy summer cat sauntered into the road and lay down without a care in the world, it's tail slowly swishing on the warm asphalt. It fixed yellow eyes on him and then, to show him how unimportant he was, yawned with cool contempt and turned it's head away as he walked past and turned into his drive. 

"Come on, Rupes!" The pesky ex-vampire stood at Rupert's open door and waved him on impatiently. "We're dying of thirst here!" The lithe figure turned and disappeared into the house. 

It was close, thought Rupert as he shut his front door. It was very close, he could feel it. He walked through into his lounge. Any moment now it would happen. He went to the french windows and paused, watching, then he walked down the steps onto the lawn and bowed in response to the languid cheers that greeted the bottle of wine he took out of the bag. 

"At bloody last. Give me that." 

"That's my Watcher, that is. I'm _so_ proud of him." 

"You're the man, G-Man." 

"Hey! This is sodding _warm_!" 

"You're the one who was dying of thirst," answered Rupert calmly. "I'll put the others in the fridge." 

"You know this bloke's got three fridges in his house? Three! And not a drop of booze in any of 'em." 

"That's because you have once again drunk it all." 

"Hey! What do you mean - once again?" 

"Did you really think I didn't know, Spike?" Rupert gave him a withering look. "I was just too tired to stake you at the time." 

Spike grinned at him. 

The doorbell rang and Buffy looked up at Rupert quickly. "Mera?" she asked. 

Rupert nodded and hurried back up the steps, but stopped before he entered the house. It had to be now; Mera hadn't been present in his vision. 

He turned and looked back at his guests lounging on the colourful blankets and chatting and laughing as they drank from the crystal glasses that he'd gone all the way to London to find. Olivia took a sip of wine and looked up at him with a smile, knowing what he was waiting for. 

"Here you go," said Willow as she reached across a prone Xander and handed Buffy a plate. 

"Why thank you, kind witch," said Buffy. "Woah. Could you fit any more cake on here?" 

"Not without magic," replied Willow, cutting a huge slice for herself. 

Spike drained his glass and stretched out his legs with a sigh. He leaned back on his elbows, raising his face to the sun. 

Dawn watched his foot tapping and nudged it with her knee. "What's the song?" 

"Nothing you'd know, young bit," he answered, his eyes closed. "Way before your time." 

"Don't you think it's interesting," said Tara. "How a song can run all day in the back of your head, even if you don't want it to?" 

"Yeah," said Spike lazily. "Drives me nuts sometimes." 

"Why's that?" asked Dawn. 

"Get Puff the Magic bleedin' Dragon stuck in your head and you'll know why." 

The roses nodded in the breeze and...yes, there went the blackbird, flying across the garden to settle on the sundial. 

"Hey, An," mumbled a drowsy Xander. "Some of those strawberries would make me a happy man right about now." 

"Coming right up, honey." 

With a feeling of closure, Rupert watched Anya pile strawberries into a glass dish and pour cream over them. From his position between Willow and Buffy, Xander opened one eye to watch the process. 

"Bit more," he said. "And a little bit more. Aaaand...thank you, An." He sat up and took the dish, dipping a finger in the cream. "I am now yours for life." 

"You say the nicest things." Anya settled her head on his feet and closed her eyes. "Now don't move for the rest of the day." 

"Not a problem." 

Four quick rings on the doorbell told Rupert that Mera's patience was running out. He took one more look at the scene in his garden, then turned and hurried inside to let her in. 

  


END


End file.
